A Parked Taxi With the Meter Running
by TicklishOstrich
Summary: A rejuvenation of the medical drama. The cases and clinic hours remain canon, though outside the office may change. They are teenage prodigies, after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I have returned to FFN ! Okay… so I love reading fanfictions where shows age or de-age, leaving the characters in high school. However, there's a shortage of that with primetime dramas. There's even a** _ **larger**_ **shortage of that with primetime** _ **medical**_ **dramas. So, with that in mind, I hereby restart House's eight seasons with a younger cast.**

 **Notice: I don't own anyone unless otherwise stated.**

Greg House, Lisa Cuddy, and James Wilson have known each other for roughly a decade. James just turned eighteen after their high school graduation. Lisa turned eighteen in January, and Greg will turn nineteen at the end of November. It's currently early November. Since March, the trio has been legitimately working at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital after being recognized as prodigies in the medical field. James wrote an amazing paper, giving him an opportunity in oncology. Lisa has leadership skills, so she is able to work with administration. Greg loves to solve a good mystery, and he is the head of diagnostics - despite also being the youngest. Previously, they had worked as interns; before that, the trio had been coming in and out of said hospital for reasons of their own.

As a child, Greg was neglected by his mother, only to be abused by his alcoholic father. He's an only child, so everything had come down to him. As a result, he acted out and ended up repeating second grade. He is very closed-minded, always trying to take out his pain and frustration on others. This is how he met Lisa and James.

Lisa and her younger (by eight years) sister Julia have always lived with domineering, strict parents. They've pushed the girls through straight A academics as well as captain of various athletics. By junior high, Lisa had found herself being pressured not to make a single mistake. She was captain of cheerleaders, volleyball team, and softball team, and co-captain of the soccer team. She ran track, and was also a prominent member of the 4-H club, FCCLA, HOSA, and choir. She suffered a meltdown, unfortunately, in the middle of a geography bee.

James originally had plans to be in show business. He has lived in a single parent household all his life, and his mom has supported him all the way - through tap dancing classes, glee club, and drama productions. Though elementary and junior high, James has loved wearing bold and flamboyant attire to school. He had also utilized time in art classes by creating new set and costume designs.

However, because of this, he was bullied. It went from nasty name-calling and an occasional shove of the playground to threats left on his locker and being pulled into fights in the hall. During one fight, he and his bully were sent to the hospital… and they got to learn about one another. This is how James and Greg became friends. Starting at a young age, his younger (by four years) brother Danny was constantly scared for his brother. As he aged, he wore darker clothes and kept away from the family. As such, he went missing at age eleven.

On the day of graduation, Greg, Lisa and James were given a full ride into college via working at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. James confided in his mom that he's gay or, in the very least, bisexual. She, unfortunately, doesn't know how to take it, and he's now closed-minded of his sexual orientation.

James is currently living behind his house, in the guest house converted from a garage. Greg and Lisa used their saved up money to move into separate apartments off campus. At work, three high school student interns are working for Greg for college credit. While the medical prodigy doesn't care for human interaction, when he discovered he has the power to enlist without pay, he was all for it.

He recruited a tall (yet a few inches shorter than Greg) black fifteen a years old named Eric Foreman for having a criminal record. He's a junior at Epson Reform School. Greg recruited a blonde fifteen-year-old Aussie named Robert Chase because the kid's dad made a call. He's a junior at Spencer High. Greg also recruited a short (as Lisa) dirty blonde fourteen-year-old named Alison Cameron because of her looks. She's a sophomore at Morrison Christian Academy.

It's another Wednesday. Greg and James are walking down the hall of the PPTH. Greg is wearing a purple button-up, a black jacket and jeans. He leans on a cane due to an incident sustained in high school. He hates to talk about it, usually lying or evading the question when asked. James, on the other hand, is dressed professionally - down to the white pharmacist coat.

Wilson starts speaking, looking through the file in his hands. "Twenty-nine-year-old female, first seizure one month ago, lost the ability to speak. Babbled like a baby. Present deterioration of mental status."

"See that?" House pointedly ignores his friend. "They all assume I'm a patient because of this cane."

"So put on a white coat like the rest of us."

"I don't want them to think I'm a doctor."

"You see where the administration might have a problem with that attitude." Wilson sighs.

"People don't want a sick doctor."

"Fair enough. I don't like healthy patients." Wilson concedes before returning to the case. "The 29 year old female…"

"The one who can't talk, I liked that part."

Wilson stops in front of House. "She's my cousin."

"And your cousin doesn't like the diagnosis. I wouldn't either. Brain tumor, she's gonna die, boring."

"No wonder you're such a prodigical diagnostician. You don't need to actually know anything to figure out what's wrong."

"You're the oncology specialist; I'm just a lowly infectious disease guy."

"Hah, yes, just a simple country doctor." Wilson sighs heavily. "Brain tumors at her age are highly unlikely."

"She's twenty-nine. Whatever she's got is highly unlikely."

"Protein markers for the three most prevalent brain cancers came up negative."

"That's an HMO lab; you might as well have sent it to a high school kid with a chemistry set."

"You _were_ that kid six months ago." He shakes his head. "No family history."

"I thought your uncle died of cancer." House grumbles, remembering skipping a day in high school for the man's funeral.

"Other side. No environmental factors."

"That you know of."

"And she's not responding to radiation treatment."

"None of which is even close to dispositive. All it does is raise one question." He pauses to dryly swallow a pill of prescribed pain medicine. "Your cousin goes to an HMO?"

"Come on! Why leave all the fun for the coroner? What's the point of putting together a team if you're not going to use them? You've got three overqualified students working for you. Getting bored."

House, Eric (Foreman on the job), Robert (Chase on the job), and Alison (Cameron on the job) are in an office room. They are looking through an MRI of Rebecca's head.

"It's a lesion." Foreman concludes.

"And the big green thing in the middle of the bigger blue thing on a map is an island. I was hoping for something a bit more creative."

"Shouldn't we be speaking to the patient before we start diagnosing?"

"Is she a doctor?"

"No, but…"

"Everybody lies."

Cameron whispers to Foreman. "Dr. House doesn't like dealing with patients."

"Isn't treating patients why we became doctors?" He whispers back.

"No, treating illnesses is why we became doctors, treating patients is what makes most doctors miserable." House answers them.

"So you're trying to eliminate the humanity from the practice of medicine." Foreman keeps the banter going.

"If we don't talk to them they can't lie to us, and we can't lie to them. Humanity is overrated. I don't think it's a tumor."

"First year of medical school if you hear hoof beets you think "horses" not "zebras"."

"Are you in first year of medical school? No. First of all, there's nothing on the CAT scan. Second of all, if this is a horse then the kindly family doctor in Trenton makes the obvious diagnosis and it never gets near this office. Differential diagnosis, people: if it's not a tumor what are the suspects? Why couldn't she talk?"

Chase has some ideas. "Aneurysm, stroke, or some other ischaemic syndrome."

"Get her a contrast MRI."

"Creutzfeld-Jakob disease." Cameron points out.

"Mad cow?" Chase questions her.

House corrects them. "Mad zebra."

"Wernickie's encephalopathy?" Foreman tries.

"No, blood thiamine level was normal."

"Lab in Trenton could have screwed up the blood test. I assume it's a corollary if people lie, that people screw up."

"Redraw the blood tests. And get her scheduled for that contrast MRI ASAP. Let's find out what kind of zebra we're dealing with here."

The interns oblige, and House moves to stand at the elevator. He sees Lisa (Cuddy) and presses the down button twice.

"I was expecting you in my office 20 minutes ago."

"Really? Well, that's odd, because I had no intention of being in your office 20 minutes ago." House replies smartly.

"You think we have nothing to talk about?"

"No, just that I can't think of anything that I'd be interested in."

"I help sign your paychecks now."

"They need me here." The elevator opens and House turns to Cuddy. "Are you going to grab my cane now, stop me from leaving?"

"That would be juvenile."

House enters the elevator, rolling his eyes when Cuddy joins him as the doors close.

Cuddy turns to House and smiles. "I can still fire you if you're not doing your job."

"I'm here from 9 to 5."

"Your billings are practically nonexistent."

"Rough year."

"You ignore requests for consults."

"I call back. Sometimes I misdial."

"You're 6 years behind on your obligation to this clinic."

"See, I was right, this doesn't interest me."

"6 years, times 3 weeks; you owe us better than 4 months. Doesn't matter how long you've worked here when half the time, you don't work."

"It's 5:00. I'm going home."

"To what?"

"Nice."

"Look, Dr. House, the only reason that you don't get fired is because your reputation worth something to this hospital."

"Excellent, we have a point of agreement. You aren't going to fire me."

"Your reputation won't last up if you don't do your job. The clinic is part of your job. I want you to do your job."

"Well, like the philosopher Jagger once said, "You can't always get what you want."" House smirks.

Upstairs, in the hall, Rebecca is in a wheelchair with Cameron and Chase, and Foreman pushing her.

Rebecca glances up. "You're not my doctor. Are you Dr. House?"

"Thankfully no." He laughs. "I'm Dr. Chase."

"Dr. House is the head of diagnostic medicine. He's very busy, but he has taken a keen interest in your case."

In the MRI room, Rebecca is on the table. Foreman and Cameron are in the room with her, Foreman explaining what he's about to do.

"We inject gadolinium into a vein. It distributes itself throughout your brain and acts as a contrast material for the magnetic resonance imagery."

Cameron smiles and attempts to interpret in layman's terms. "Basically, whatever's in your head, lights up like a Christmas tree."

"It might make you feel a little lightheaded." Foreman adds.

"Dr. Cameron. I'm sorry I have to stop you, there's a problem." A nurse from inside the control room calls out.

Half an hour later, House busts into Cuddy's office. She's unimpressed and continues filing her papers.

He all but shouts. "You pulled my authorization!"

"Yes, why are you yelling?" Her voice is calm.

"No MRIs, no imaging studies, no labs!"

"You also can't make long distance phone calls."

"If you're gonna fire me at least have the guts to face me!"

"Or photocopies; you're still yelling."

"I'm ANGRY! You're risking a patient's life."

"I assume those are two separate points."

"You showed me disrespect, you embarrassed me and as long as I'm still work here you have…"

Cuddy interrupts, finally meeting his gaze, as she sets down her papers. "Is your yelling designed to scare me because I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be scared of. More yelling? That's not scary. That you're gonna hurt me? That's scary, but I'm pretty sure I can outrun ya."

"Oh, I looked into that philosopher you quoted, Jagger, and you're right, "You can't always get what you want," but as it turns out "if you try sometimes you get what you need.""

House frowns. "So, because you want me to treat patients, you aren't letting me treat patients."

"I need you to do your job."

House comes out of Cuddy's office. Wilson and the interns are waiting. He sighs.

"Do the MRI, she folded."

The interns leave, and House turns to Wilson (who's waiting to hear the deal.

"I've gotta do four hours a week in this clinic until I make up the time I've missed. 2067. I'll be caught up in 2067." He walks into the clinic, turning back for a moment to face Wilson. "You better love this cousin a whole lot."

Back in MRI room, Rebecca is back on the table. She is pushed into the machine.

"All right Rebecca," Cameron speaks over the intercom. "We know you may feel a little claustrophobic in there, but we need you to remain still."

Chase adds in, also over the intercom. "Ok, we're gonna begin."

The machine starts up and makes weird sounds.

Rebecca starts complaining not long after starting. "I don't feel so good."

"It's all right. Just try to relax." Chase assures her.

Inside the MRI, Rebecca starts choking. Her throat closes up.

"Rebecca?" Cameron calls through the intercom. "Rebecca?" She calls again. With no response, she turns to Foreman and Chase. "Get her out of there."

"Ah she probably fell asleep; she's exhausted." Chase brushes it off.

"She was claustrophobic 30 seconds ago, she's not sleeping. We gotta get her out of there!"

"It'll just be another minute."

"She's having an allergic reaction to gadolinium. She'll be dead in two minutes."

Foreman commands his coworkers to hold her neck.

"Oh, she's ashen."

"She's not breathing. Epi point five."

"Come on, I can't ventilate."

"Too much edema, where's the surgical airway kit?"

Chase brings it in. "Yep, coming."

Rebecca's coughing up blood. The interns get her bagged.

"Good call." Chase aims his praise for Cameron.

In the hospital room, Thursday morning, Rebecca has a ventilator hooked up to her. The interns are exempt from school by the hospital's request.

"We'll get that tube out of your throat later today." Chase promises.

"Just get some rest for now." Cameron smiles.

They leave to hallway. House is waiting for them there.

"Told you, can't trust people."

"She probably knew she was allergic to gadolinium, figured it was an easy way to get someone to cut a hole in her throat."

House nods to Cameron. "Can't get a picture, gonna have to get a thousand words."

"You actually want me to talk to the patient? Get a history?" Foreman is surprised.

"We need to know if there's some genetic or environmental causes triggering an inflammatory response."

"I thought everybody lied?"

"Truth begins in lies. Think about it."

"That doesn't mean anything,does it?" Foreman asks the others as House walks away.

House groans, walking up to the check-in desk in the clinic. "12:52 PM Dr. House checks in, please write that down. Do you have cable TV here somewhere? General Hospital starts in 8 minutes."

"No TV." Cuddy remarks from behind. "But we've got patients."

"Can't you give out the aspirin yourself? I'll do paperwork."

"I made sure your first case was an interesting one." She responds to his complaints and hands over a case file.

He groans, reading it over. "Cough just won't go away, runny nose looks a funny color."

"Patient admitted complaining of back spasms."

"I think I read about something like that in the New England Journal of Medicine."

"Patient is orange."

"The color?"

"No, the fruit."

"You mean yellow; it's jaundice."

"I mean orange."

"Well, how orange?"

"Exam room 1." She hands him the file.

House is in exam room 1 staring at an actual orange guy fiddling with his wedding band.

The orange guy decides to explain. "I was playing golf and my cleat got stuck. I mean, it hurt a little but I kept playing. The next morning I could barely stand up. Well, you're smiling so I take it that means this isn't serious."

House takes out his pills and the orange guy looks puzzled.

"What's that? What are you doing?"

"Painkillers."

"Oh, for you, for your leg."

"No, 'cause they're yummy. You want one? It'll make your back feel better."

The guy nods and House gives him a painkiller

"Unfortunately, you have a deeper problem. Your wife is having an affair."

"What?!"

"You're orange, you moron! It's one thing for you not to notice, but if your wife hasn't picked up on the fact that her husband has changed color, she's just not paying attention. By the way, do you consume just a ridiculous amount of carrots and mega-dose vitamins?"

The guy nods slowly, trying to wrap his head around everything.

"The carrots turn you yellow, the niacin turns you red. Get some finger-paints and do the math. And get a good lawyer."

House leaves the room, only to enter another exam room, this time with the patient being a little boy.

"Deep breath."

The little boy complains halfheartedly. "It's cold."

House directs a question to the mother in the room. "Has he been using his inhaler?"

"Not in the past few days. He's, um, only ten. I worry about children taking such strong medicine so frequently."

"What happened to your leg?"

The child inquires, and then starts to wheeze a little. He continues to wheeze throughout the entire time that House berates the mother.

"Your doctor probably was concerned about the strength of the medicine, too. She probably weighed that danger against the danger of not breathing. Oxygen is so important during those prepubescent years, don't you think? Ok, I'm gonna assume that no body's ever told you what asthma is, or if they have, you had other things on your mind. A stimulant triggers cells in your child's airways to release substances that inflame the air passages and cause them to contract. Mucus production increases, cell-lining starts to shed. But the steroids, the steroids…stop the inflammation. The more often this happens…" He trails off and starts to leave the room.

The mother sounds concerned."What? "The more often this happens…"what?""

"Forget it. If you don't trust steroids, you shouldn't trust doctors."

House leaves the clinic, and heads upstairs via the elevator.

In Rebecca's room, she's giving Cameron and Foreman details of her family history.

"My mother passed away three years ago. She had a heart attack, and my father broke his back doing construction."

Cameron's mandatory pager goes off. She checks it, then looks between her coworker and the patient.

"It's House, it's urgent. I'm sorry."

They go outside the room and see House again waiting for them there.

"You couldn't have knocked?" She complains.

"Steroids. Give her steroids, high doses of prednisone."

Foreman groans. "You're looking for support for a diagnosis of cerebral vasculitus."

Cameron agrees. "Inflammation of the blood vessels in the brain is awfully rare. Especially for someone her age."

"So is a tumor. Her SED rate was elevated."

"Mildly."

"That could mean anything, or nothing." They answer in the same order.

"Yeah, I know. I have no reason to think that it's vasculitus except that it could be. If the blood vessels were inflamed that's gonna look exactly like what we saw on the MRI from Trenton County, and the pressure's gonna cause neurological symptoms."

"You can't diagnose that without a biopsy." Cameron holds off.

"Yes, we can, we treat it. If she gets better we know that we're right."

"And if we're wrong?"

"We learn something else."

Back in Rebecca's room, she's confused about the latest treatment. "Why steroids?"

"Just part of your treatment. You haven't had many visitors. No boyfriend?" Chase is with her.

"Three dates. I wouldn't have stood by him if her were vomiting all day."

"Well, what abut work? You must have friends from work."

"Pretty much everybody I like is 5 years old. A nurse said you're stopping my radiation."

"We're just trying some alternative medications. So, where's your family from then?"

"Steroids aren't an alternative to radiation." She confronts him.

"The tests weren't really conclusive."

Cameron comes into the room. "We're treating you for vasculitus, it's the inflammation of blood vessels in the brain."

"It's not a tumor? I don't have a tumor?"

In the hallway, Chase turns to Cameron.

"You should have told her the truth. It's a long shot guess."

Cameron thanks the nurse who grabs her file. She then turns to face Chase. "If House is right, no harm, if he's wrong we've given a dying woman a couple days hope."

"False hope."

"If there was any other type available I would have given her that."

In Rebecca's classroom, Foreman is smelling the floor. A little blonde girl named Sidney walks up to him.

"Why are you smelling Billy's pants?" She asks, gesturing to the little boy to Foreman's right.

"I'm not."

"Looked like you were." She replies singsong.

"I was smelling the floor."

"Oh. How old are you?"

"Fifteen. Do you have any pets in this class?"

"No, but we used to have a gerbil, but Carly L. dropped a book on it." She points to a girl at a table working on a coloring page.

"Careless."

"Do you need to smell it?" She asks excitedly.

"No, I'm smelling for mold. I don't need to smell it."

"You can smell our parrot."

"You said you didn't have any pets in this class."

She smiles matter-of-factly. "A parrot is a bird."

House and Foreman are later eating lunch with some medical drama on the TV that has House's attention more than Foreman does. He's not even moving his gaze away from the TV.

"Parrots are the primary source of psitticosis." Foreman keeps going.

"It's not the parrot."

"Psitticosis can lead to nerve problems and neurological complications."

"How many kids were there in the class?"

"20."

"How many are home sick?"

"None, but…"

"None, but you think that 5 year olds are more serious about bird hygiene than their teacher. You've been through her home?"

"She lives in Trenton. I can go up to her room tomorrow morning and ask her for the key."

"Would the police call for permission before dropping by to check out a crime scene?" House finally looks down to his colleague.

"It's not a crime scene."

"Far as I know she's running a Meth Lab out of her basement."

"She's a kindergarten teacher!"

"And if I was a Kindergarten student I would trust her implicitly." He sighs and then points to a cafeteria worker behind the line. "Ok, I'll give you a for instance. The lady back there, who made your egg-salad sandwich. Her eyes look glassy, did you notice that? Now hospital policy is to stay home if you're sick, but if you're making $8.00 an hour, then ya kinda need the $8.00 an hour right? The sign in the bathroom says that employees must wash after using the facilities, but I figure that somebody who wipes snot on a sleeve isn't hyper concerned about sanitary conditions. So what do ya think? Should I trust her? I want you to check the patient's home for contaminants, garbage, medication…"

Foreman interrupts him. "Whoa, oh, I can't just break into someone's house."

"Isn't that how you got into the Felker's home?" He pauses as Foreman's eyes widen. "Yeah, I know, court records are sealed, you were 12, it was a stupid mistake, but your old gym teacher has a big mouth. You should write a thank you note."

"I should thank him?"

"Well, I needed somebody around here with street smarts. Ok? Knows when you're being conned, knows how to con."

"I should sue you!"

"I'm pretty sure you can't sue somebody for wrongful hiring."

"But I'm pretty sure I can sue if you fire me for not breaking into some lady's house."

Foreman pointedly eats the rest of the sandwich. After lunch, House is in an empty exam room in the clinic. He's sitting and reading "Spring's Hottest People' Magazine, when Cuddy suddenly walks in.

"I'm doing research. People are fascinating aren't they?" House immediately has a go-to response.

"Why are you giving Adler steroids?" She demands.

"Well, she's my patient that's what you do with patients. You give them medicine."

"You don't prescribe medicine based on guesses. At least we don't since Tuskeegee and Mengele."

"You're comparing me to a Nazi? Nice."

"I'm stopping the treatment."

"She's my patient." House stands up.

"It's my hospital." She turns around.

"It's the _administration's_ hospital. Just because you work there it doesn't make it _your_ hospital. I did not get her sick, she is not an experiment, I have a legitimate theory about what's wrong with her."

"With no proof." Cuddy walks out with House chasing after.

"There's never any proof. 5 different doctors come up with 5 different diagnoses based on the same evidence."

"You don't have any evidence. And nobody knows anything huh? Then how is it that you always assume you're right?" She leaves the clinic and House is still following.

"I don't, I just find it hard to operate on the opposite assumption. And why are you so afraid of making a mistake?"

"Because I'm a doctor. Because when we make mistakes people die."

She walks off up the stairs, leaving House at the ground.

"Come on."

He grumbles. He thinks about going up the stairs, but decides against it. Instead, he shouts up to Cuddy.

"People used to have more respect for cripples you know!" He turns to a nearby guy in a wheelchair. "They didn't really."

Cuddy enters Rebecca's room, ready to stop treatment. Rebecca is eating voraciously.

"So, how ya feeling?"

"Much better, thanks." She smiles, swallowing her food. "Are you Dr. House? I thought he was a he, but…?"

"No. Don't eat too much too fast."

"Thank him for me."

"Right."

Cuddy exits the room, and House is standing there. Cuddy is a bit surprised by him standing there. House just looks over and smirks.

"Should I discontinue the treatment, boss?"

"You got lucky."

She walks off, and House just grins. Hours later, at night, Wilson is in Rebecca's room. He finishes checking her breathing and moves to the other side of the room to write the results on her chart.

Rebecca pipes up then. "Am I ever gonna meet Dr. House?"

Wilson scoffs. "Well, you might run into him at the movies or on the bus."

"Is he a good man?" She asks as he continues a routine.

"He's a good doctor."

Rebecca tilts her head. "Can you be one without the other? Don't you have to care about people?"

"Caring's a good motivator. He's found something else." Wilson has Rebecca grab his hands. "Feel this?"

"Um-hmm." She mutters in agreement.

"How about this?" He tries again.

"Um-hmm." She repeats.

"Ok squeeze." He pauses to gage her strength. "Harder. All right."

"He's your friend, huh?" She smiles.

"Yeah."

"Does he care about you?"

"I think so."

"You don't know?"

"As Dr. House likes to say, "Everybody lies.""

"It's not what people say, it's what they do." Rebecca informs him as he begins to pack up.

Wilson pauses what he's doing. "Yes, he cares about me."

Before he leaves, Rebecca sits up, disoriented. "I can't see. I can't see!"

She starts having a seizure and the monitors go crazy.

"A little help in here!" Wilson calls out.

The heart monitor shows a flat line as a nurse hurries in. The next morning is Sunday. Rebecca has an oxygen mask on. Foreman is there with her.

"Your chest will be sore for a while. We needed to shock you to get your heart going. Ok." He lays a bunch of cards with pictures on them in front of Rebecca. "Can you arrange these to tell a story?"

After a while, Foreman is back in House's office with the others. "She couldn't put them in order."

"Could the damage have been caused by a lack of oxygen during her seizure?" Chase asks.

"No, I gave her the same test 5 minutes later and she did just fine. The altered mental status is intermittent, just like the verbal skills."

Cameron sighs. "So, what now?"

"Given the latest symptoms it's clearly growing deeper into the brain stem. Soon she won't be able to walk, she'll go blind permanently, and then the respiratory center will fail."

House grimaces. "How long do we have?"

"If it's a tumor we're talking a month, maybe two, if it's infectious a few weeks, if it's vascular that'll probably be fastest of all, maybe a week."

"We're gonna stop all treatment."

House gets up and walks over to the drinks.

"I still think it's a tumor. I think we should go back to the radiation." Foreman points out.

"She didn't respond to the radiation." Chase retorts.

"Well, maybe we didn't see the effects until we started steroids."

"No, it's not a tumor." House shakes his head. "The steroids did something, I just don't know what."

"So we're just gonna do nothing? We're just gonna watch her die?"

"Yeah, we're gonna watch her die. Specifically we're gonna watch how fast she's dying. You just told us, each diagnosis has its own timeframe. When we see how fast it's killing her we'll know what it is." House responds, mixing some coffee.

Cameron is worried. "And by then maybe there's nothing we can do about it."

"There's go to be something we can do, something better than watching her die."

"Well, I got nothing. How 'bout you?"

House walks away with his coffee. Foreman and Cameron then exit the office.

"Bastard." Foreman grumbles under his breath before he turns to Cameron. "Oh, Alison, I need you for a couple of hours."

"What's up?"

"When you break into someone's house; it's always better to have a white chick with you." He smirks, revealing House's plan.

"Adler's house? Why don't we just ask her for a key?"

"For all we know she could be running a meth lab out of her basement."

In the clinic, House is with a patient, a middle-aged man.

"I'm tired a lot." He complains.

"Any other reason you think you may have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?"

"It's kinda the definition isn't it?"

"It's kinda the definition of getting older." House jumps on a stool.

"I had a couple headaches last month, mild fever, sometimes I can't sleep, and I have trouble concentrating." He continues.

"Apparently not while researching this stuff on the internet."

"I was thinking it also might be fibromyalgia."

For a moment, House looks contemplative, and then his face turns more serious. In a sarcastic voice, he finally responds. "Excellent diagnosis!"

"Is there anything for that?"

House sighs heavily. "Ya know, I think there just might be."

House leaves the room, and heads to the dispensary. When the pharmacist comes up to the counter, House places down a dollar bill.

"I need 36 Vicodin, and change for a dollar."

House gets his change first and goes to a nearby candy machine. He gets white candies out of the machine, and goes back to the counter. There he takes the Vicodin and slips them into his pocket, exchanging them for the candy.

"Exam room 2." House remarks as he places the bottle back on the counter.

Meanwhile, Cameron and Foreman are searching for anything suspicious in Rebecca's house.

"House doesn't believe in pretense. Figures life's too short and too painful. So he just says what he thinks." Cameron exhales slowly.

"Nothing interesting in the garbage. "I say what I think" is just another way of saying "I'm an ass.""

"Well, if you wanted to be judged on your medical prowess only, maybe you shouldn't have broken into someone's home."

"I was 12! Don't know about ticks, but her dog's definitely got fleas."

"I managed to make it to 13 without a criminal record."

Foreman is looking in the fridge, and takes out some ham and mustard.

"Yeah?" He questions. "Well you obviously didn't grow up in my neighborhood."

"That's right. You stole a loaf of bread to feed your starving family right? You always eat during break-ins?"

"Am I supposed to respect their food more than I respect their DVD players? You want some?"

"No."

"You gonna go hungry until she dies?"

"No."

"You know what, after centuries of oppression, decades of civil rights marches, and more significantly living like a monk, never getting less than a 4.0 GPA, you don't think it's kind of disgusting I get one of the top jobs in the country because I'm a delinquent? We'll eat, then we'll tear up the carpet."

"You're accepted for Hopkins right?"

"Yep."

"So, you're accepted for a better school than I am, and you're getting better grades than I me."

"So how'd you get the job? Did you stab a guy in a bar fight?" He chuckles at Cameron's disturbed look.

Around three o'clock, the team is in House's office again.

"Nothing." Foreman breaks the tension.

"It's not a tumor; she's getting worse too fast. She can't stand up." House massages his temples.

"No toxins, no medication?" Wilson asks.

"Nothing that would explain these symptoms."

"Family history of neurological problems?"

"Not that I could tell from her underwear drawer." He retorts dryly.

"You said nothing that would explain these symptoms. What did you find that doesn't explain these symptoms?"

Foreman decides to call James out. "Dr. Wilson convinced you to treat this patient under false pretenses. Adler's not his cousin."

"That's ridiculous. You can ask her yourself. Can we get back to…"

Foreman interrupts him. "She's not Jewish!"

"Rachel Adler's not Jewish?"

"I had ham at her apartment!"

Wilson chuckles. "Dr. Foreman, a lot of Jews have non-Jewish relatives, and most of us don't keep kosher. I can see getting through high school without learning a thing about Jews, but medical school…"

"Ok, maybe she's Jewish," He complies. "But she's definitely not your cousin."

"Really?" Wilson panics. "This guy's…he…"

"You don't even know her name! You called her Rachel; her name is Rebecca!"

"Yes, yes, her name is Rebecca. I call her Rachel."

"You idiot!" House yells, breaking up their fight.

"Hey…listen…" Wilson is nervous.

"Not you, him! _You_ said you didn't find anything."

"Everything I found was in…"

"You found ham."

"So?"

"Where there's ham there's pork, where there's pork there's neurocysticercosis."

"Tapeworm?!" Chase yelps. "You think she's got a worm in her brain?"

"It fits. Could have been living there for years, it never occurred to me…"

"Millions of people eat ham every day. It's quite a leap to think that she's got a tapeworm." Cameron cuts him off.

"OK, Mr. Neurologist." House looks over to the junior who plans to major in neuroscience. "What happens when you give steroids to a person who has a tapeworm?"

Knowing how well it fits, Foreman sighs. "They, they get a little better and then they get worse."

"Just like Rebecca Adler did." Wilson realizes.

House lays a book on the table, and opens to a page on tapeworms.

"In a typical case if you don't cook pork well enough you ingest live tapeworm larvae. They got these little hooks they grab onto your bowel, they live, they grow up, they reproduce."

"Reproduce? There's only got one lesion, and it's nowhere near her bowel." Chase sounds incredulous.

"That's because this is not a typical case. Tapeworm can produce 20 to 30,000 eggs a day. Guess where they go."

"Out."

"Not all of them. Unlike the larvae, the egg can pass right through the walls of the intestines and into the blood stream. And where does the blood stream go?"

"Everywhere."

"As long as it's healthy the immune system doesn't even know it's there. The worm builds a wall, uses secretions to shut down the body's immune response and control fluid flow. It's really kinda beautiful."

"As long as it's healthy, so what do we do? Call a vet and nurse the little guy back to health?"

"It's too late for that. It's dying, and as it dies this parasite loses the ability to control of the host's defenses. The immune system wakes up and attacks the worm and everything starts to swell, and that is very bad for the brain."

"It could still be a hundred other things. The eosinophil count was normal.

"It's only abnormal in 30% of cases." Chase points out.

"Proving nothing." Wilson groans.

"No, no, no, no, you see, it fits, it's perfect!" House exclaims. "It explains everything."

"But it proves nothing."

"I can prove it by treating it."

"No, you can't. I was just with her, she doesn't want any more treatments, she doesn't want any more experiments, she wants to go home and die."

In Rebecca's room, at nighttime, House enters. He turns to the nurse before facing the patient.

"Will you excuse us, please?"

The nurse leaves.

"I'm Dr. House."

"It's good to meet you."

"You're being an idiot." He pauses to clear his throat. "You have a tapeworm in your brain, it's not pleasant, but if we don't do anything you'll be dead by the weekend."

"Have you actually seen the worm?"

"When you're all better I'll show you my diplomas."

"You were sure I had vasculitus too. Now I can't walk and I'm wearing a diaper. What's this treatment gonna do for me?"

"I'm not talking about a treatment; I'm talking about a cure. But because I might be wrong, you want to die."

"What made you a cripple?"

"I had an infarction."

"A heart attack?"

"It's what happens when the blood flow is obstructed. If it's in the heart it's a heart attack. If it's in the lungs it's a pulmonary embolism. If it's in the brain it's a stroke. I had it in my thigh muscles."

"Wasn't there something they could do?"

"There was plenty they could do, if they made the right diagnosis, but the only symptom was pain. Not may people get to experience muscle death."

"Did you think you were dying?" Rebecca asks tentatively.

"I hoped I was dying."

"So you hide in your office, refuse to see patients because you don't like the way people look at you. You feel cheated by life so now you're gonna get even with the world. You want me to fight this. Why? What makes you think I'm so much better than you?"

"When you're scared, you'll turn into me."

"I just want to die with a little dignity."

"There's no such thing! Our bodies break down, sometimes when we're 90, sometimes before we're even born, but it always happens and there's never any dignity in it. I don't care if you can walk, see, wipe your own ass. It's always ugly, always. " He pauses with a heavy sigh. "You can live with dignity, we can't die with it."

It's Monday morning, and the students have a tutor from school at the hospital. He'll be working with them when they're not busy with the case. In the next room, the team is talking over Rebecca's treatment.

"No treatment."

"Maybe we can get a court order, override her wishes. Claim she doesn't have the capacity to make this decision." Foreman suggests.

"But she does."

"But we could claim that the illness made her mentally incompetent." Cameron finds it a problem.

"Pretty common result." Foreman is leaning toward Cameron's decision."

"That didn't happen here." House cuts in.

"He's not gonna do it." Wilson speaks on behalf of his best friend. "She's not just a file to him anymore. He respects her."

"So because you respect her, you're going to let her die?"

"I solved the case, my work is done." He starts to walk away, but he ceases at the door. "Patients always want proof, we're not making cars here, we don't give guarantees."

House continues walking, but Chase runs after.

"I think we can prove it's a worm. It's noninvasive, it's safe. I'm not completely sure but…"

House interrupts the Aussie. "Yeah, yeah, yeah what's the damn idea?"

"Have you ever seen a worm under an x-ray, a regular old no contrast 100-year-old technology x-ray? They light up like shotgun pellets. Just like on a contrast MRI."

"Which is the same thing as a CT scan, which we did, which proved nothing."

"Worm cysts is the same density as the cerebrospinal fluid, we're not going to see anything in her head, but Chase is right, he's right, we should x-ray her, but we don't x-ray her brain, we x-ray her leg, worms love thigh muscle. If she's got one in her head I guarantee you there's one in her leg."

An hour later, Rebecca is strapped on a table in a dark room. The studenta focus on her leg, and x-ray is taken.

Chase is studying the screen. "Hold still, Rebecca."

The worm eventually shows up. Around ten am, everyone is in Rebecca's hospital room.

"This here is a worm larva." Chase points to x-ray of her leg.

"So, if it's in my leg, it's in my brain?"

"Are you looking for a guarantee? It's there, probably been there 6 to 10 years."

"Could I have more?"

"Probably. It's good news."

"What do we do now?"

"Now we get you better. Albendazole."

He hands her a cup with two pills in it.

Rebecca almost laughs as she accepts them. "Two pills?"

"Yeah, every day for at least a month with a meal."

"Two pills?"

Chase smiles. "Yeah, possible side effects include abdominal pain, nausea, headache, dizziness, fever, and hair loss. We'll probably make you keep taking the pills even if you get every one of those."

Rebecca smirks, and then downs the pills. Downstairs, in House's office, Cameron is waiting for him.

"Why did you recruit me to work with you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Kinda hard to work for or even with a guy who doesn't respect you."

"Why?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"No, it just seems that way because you can't think of an answer. Does it make a difference why I think I'm a jerk? The only thing that matters is what you think. Can you do the job?"

"You hired a black guy because he had a juvenile record."

"No, it wasn't a racial thing, I didn't see a black guy. I just saw a doctor…with a juvenile record. I hired Chase 'cause his dad made a phone call. I hired you because you are extremely pretty."

"You recruited me to get into my pants?!" She almost screams.

"I can't believe that that would shock you. It's also not what I said. No, I hired you because you look good; it's like having a nice piece of art in the lobby."

"I'm in the top of my class."

"But not THE top."

"I did an internship at the Mayo Clinic over the summer."

"Yes, you were a very good applicant."

"But not the best?"

"Would that upset you, really, to think that you were recruited because of some genetic gift of beauty not some genetic gift of intelligence?"

"I worked very hard to get where I am."Cameron pouts.

"But you didn't have to. People choose the paths that gain them the greatest rewards for the least amount of effort. That's a law of nature, and you defied it. That's why I recruited you. You could have been head cheerleader and married rich, could have been a model, you could have just shown up and people would have given you stuff. Lots of stuff, but you didn't, you worked your stunning little ass off."

"Am I supposed to be flattered?"

"Gorgeous women do not go to medical school. Unless they're as damaged as they are beautiful. Were you abused by a family member?"

"No!" She's appalled now.

"Sexually assaulted?" He keeps it up.

"No."

"But you are damaged, aren't you?"

Cameron hesitates, and in that moment her pager goes off.

Cameron leaves his office. Meanwhile, Lisa is in the clinic with the previously orange man who had been an exam room patient of House's.

"I followed her. I couldn't stop thinking about what that doctor said."

"I told you not to listen to him, he's an idiot." Cuddy shakes her head.

"I was ORANGE."

"I don't want to know what you found out."

"You don't care?"

"I'm your doctor, you've been good to me and good to this hospital, of course I care, but I don't see how this conversation can end well for me. Either your wife is having an affair, or she's not having an affair and you have come here because you rightly think I should get him fired, but I can't even if it cost me your money, the son of a bitch is the best doctor we have."

In Rebecca's room,she is looking a lot better. Chase walks in smiling. She smiles back.

"Feeling any better?"

"I can't complain."

"As you know the hospital has certain rules, and as you also know we tend to ignore them, but I think this one's gonna be a little obvious unless we get your help."

Cameron then enters the room with Rebecca's class following close behind.

"If anyone asks, you have 11 daughters and 5 sons."

Rebecca looks relieved and happy. "Hi, you guys!"

The kindergarten class erupts in a lot of 'Hi Miss Rebecca's.

"Come here!" She laughs.

They gather around and on her bed and present her with a card.

"It's so good to see you guys! I missed you! Is this for me?"

Rebecca opens it and inside it says "Miss Rebecca we're glad you're not dead"

She laughs again. "Oh, I love you guys." She briefly turns her attention to Chase and Cameron. "I wanted to thank Dr. House, but he never visited again."

"He cured you, you didn't cure him." She answers politely.

Rebecca nods and then turns back to her class. "Ok, I want a hug and a kiss from every single one of you. Get up here right now!"

The kids giggle and laugh, climbing up to comply. In an empty room, Greg and James are eating evening machine snacks and watching a medical drama on a mini TV.

"You said she was your cousin. Why would you lie?"

James shrugs. "It got you to take the case."

"You lied to a friend to save a stranger, you don't think that's screwed up?"

"You've never lied to me?"

Greg smirks. "I _NEVER_ lie."

"Oh, really."

The boys drop the conversation to pay more attention to their show. A male and female doctor are on the screen, and the man sighs.

"Why do we do this?"

The woman then stares at him and reiterates the same line Lisa had used earlier. "Because we're doctors, when we make mistakes people die."

Greg smirks at the little revelation, but before he has long to reflect on it, there's a knock at the door. A college student nurse pops her head in.

"Dr. House? You have a patient."

She pulls the blinds away to reveal the guy that House gave the candy pills to.

"He says he needs a refill."

Greg smirks again, glancing over to James. "Got change for a dollar?"

 **X**

 **X  
X**

 **X**

 **Author's Note: Little known fact. That took a really long time, but I think it's worth it. Let me know how you like it as they're younger.**

" **No, you can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want."**


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! I've returned with the second episode. I'd like to thank the follower I've received from the first. This chapter is on 1.02 – Paternity. I'm watching it as I watch it, changing a bit here and there. I miss this show a lot. Here we go!

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

It's been a week since the last aggravatingly interesting case. Now, Greg has been sacked with an incredible amount of clinic hours. James has been searching for him, and finally hits the clinic, where he's told Dr. House has been with a patient in Exam Room Two… for the past thirty minutes.

"Hey!"

"Close the door." House mutters and then repeats in a louder voice. "Close the door!"

"Is Cuddy down the hall counting to 50?"

House sighs, "She's knows I'm in here, the clinic, as she commanded; she just doesn't know I'm alone."

Wilson smirks. "Well, you've got a full waiting room, how long do you think you can ignore them?"

"I'm off at 4:00."

Wilson glances at his watch and scoffs. "You're doing this to avoid 5 minutes of work?"

House turns to face him with a grimace. "I go out there, I get assigned a kid with a runny nose. That's 30 seconds looking at the nose; 25 minutes talking to a worried mom who won't leave until she sure it's not meningitis or a tumor."

Wilson shakes his head. "Yes, concerned parents can be so annoying. Just tell Cuddy you've got an urgent case, you had to leave early."

"That would be lying."

"And that would be wrong. But luckily, the definition of urgent is fungible."

He goes to leave, but his friend speaks up again.

"Not the definition of case though."

James stops and looks back at Greg in shock.

"You have no cases? You have _no_ cases. You've got handpicked doctor interns, specialists, working for you, and they're sitting on their hands?"

House shrugs. "Alison is answering my mail."

"Time well spent I'm sure. Eric and Chase?"

"Research?" House tries.

"Really, Greg? Research? That the best you got?"

House just shrugs again. In the Diagnostics Medical offices and Alison is on a computer typing. Eric is tapping his fingers, bored, against the working desk, and Chase has a book of crossword puzzles open.

"9 letters, iodine deficiency in children." He calls out to anyone.

"Cretinism" Eric informs him.

"Huh." Chase responds simply, filling in the space.

House finally gets up to leave the exam room. He limps over to the check-out desk and talks to one of the nurses.

"So, 4:03 PM. Dr. House checks out. Please write that down."

"Dr. House." An urgent-looking man rushes over.

"Sorry, done for the day." He shakes his head, grabbing the cane. "There's plenty of docs here to take care of you."

"But we had an appointment."

"Hah, nice try, but this is a walk-in clinic, which means there are no appointments." Greg scoffs. "It means you walk in, sign the chart and a doctor will see you, just not me."

"But your letter says that we would see you." He's really persistent.

"Not a big letter writer." Greg tries to make his way to the door.

"Here."

The man thrusts a letter in Greg's face. The teen nearly growls at the sight of the paper, and even more so on the signed name at the bottom. With only one suspect in mind, Greg wheels around to the elevator. He directs a couple nurses to situate the father and son in an exam room, and then he barges into his office. One student is inside.

"When did my signature get so girly?"

"I can explain." Cameron winces.

"See that "G", see how it makes a big loop on top?" Greg growls this time. "It doesn't even look like my handwriting. Think I have something? What's the differential diagnosis for writing "G's" like a junior high school girl?"

"It's impossible to get to you through normal channels, they have called…"

House cuts her off. "Perseverance does not equal worthiness. Next time you want to get my attention wear something fun. Low-rider jeans are hot."

Cameron shakes her head. "Thirteen year old male, sudden onset of double vision and night terrors, with no apparent cause. The kid's been to two neurologists…" 

"Night terrors, yeah? As in big scary monsters?"

"Yeah."

House gets up and grabs his cane, limping angrily out the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To see the family."

Cameron is shocked, making House feel slightly better. "You're going to examine a patient?"

"Nine times out of ten there's no reason to talk to a patient, but night terrors in a thirteen year old is a _very_ good reason to talk to this family." He answers smugly. "Good work."

In the aforementioned exam room, Dr. House joins the patient and parents. Quickly, he begins examining the patient – named Dan. Cameron follows, lingering at the door.

"Margins look fine. No lesions, color is good. How long have you been having night terrors?"

"Three weeks."

"He's afraid to go to bed, he's exhausted, he can barely function." His dad adds.

House flicks at both of Dan's eyes.

"What does that tell you?" His mom questions House expectantly, given that he's only nearly six years older than her son.

"Nothing, it's just fun watching him blink." He answers with attitude before turning to the younger teen. "Name as many animals as you can that begin with the letter "B" go."

After a long pause, Dan finally speaks. "Baby elephant."

"Baby elephant is actually a good answer; "B" is a bear of a letter." House rolls his eyes.

"What does that tell you?" His dad asks now.

"Proves two things, no neurological damage, and your son is never going to be chief fry cook. In teens there are two likely causes of night terrors: post traumatic stress, any recent shootouts at your high school?"

"No."

"Well, then, Dave…"

"Dan." Cameron corrects.

"…if there's no trauma the other cause is sexual abuse. So, who's molesting you? Teacher, extra friendly neighbor? I'd ask if either one of you were involved, but you'd deny it."

"We would never do anything to hurt Dan." His dad sounds appalled.

"I say it here, it comes out there. This lack of response is consistent with abuse."

"There's no one, ok? I swear. There was trauma; I got hit in the head during a lacrosse game."

House turns to Cameron. "Did you know that he got hit in the head?"

"They didn't mention it, no."

"Yeah, why bother." House mutters sarcastically.

House leaves, and they all follow. The dad speaks up first.

"No, no, we took him to the ER after the game. He was scanned, they tested him, they said he was fine. No concussion, it's gotta be something else."

"You hound me for my opinion and then question my diagnosis. Cool. ER obviously screwed up, kid's got a concussion."

Dan speaks up then. "I had double vision before I got hit."

"Well, that changes everything, you need glasses. That's why you had double vision, which is why you got hit, which is why you have a concussion, which is why you have night terrors. You need to see an ophthalmologist, which I am not."

House and Cameron leave the family behind. Cameron turns to House. "You enjoyed that. I brought a reasonable case to your attention, and you shoved it in my face just to humiliate me."

"You're an only child, aren't you?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Everything is about you. This may seem incredibly controversial, but I think sexual abuse is bad. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't being diddled by daddy, or mommy, anything else is just a bonus."

A knocking sound comes from the reception area. House cranes his neck and looks over. He sees that Dan's leg is spasming.

"I'm not an only child."

House doesn't hear her; his attention is focused on Dan "Interesting."

He goes back out to Dan and his parents. Cameron is confused but follows.

"What?" She questions, getting no answer.

House questions the thirteen year old. "Don't move. Did I bore you in there?"

"What?" Dan looks up. "Ah, no, not, not really."

"Are you tired?"

"Sometimes."

"He never sleeps!" His dad raises his eyebrows. "Of course he's tired."

House rolls his eyes. "Right now, at this moment, are you tired?"

"No, no."

"That twitch in your leg. Did you feel that?"

"Didn't hurt."

"His leg twitched." His dad waves vaguely. "I don't see what…"

House interrupts. "It's called a myoclonic jerk, it's very common when you're falling asleep. Respiration rate falls, and the brain interprets this as the body dying, so it sends a pulse to wake it up."

"So?"

"So, he's not asleep, he's awake." Intrigued, he turns to Cameron. "Admit him."

House pages Foreman (who had been chatting with some nurses in the pediatrics ward) and Chase (who had been taking on extra hours in the ER) to his office. When they arrive, House is seating, twirling his cane. Cameron is writing on the white board. They take a seat as Cameron finishes listing off Dan's symptoms.

"I recognize that loopy "G". So, what does the jerk tell us?"

Foreman is first to open his mouth. "Nothing good, the brain's losing control of the body. Can't order the eyes to focus, regulate sleep patterns or control muscle movements."

"A movement disorder, or degenerative brain disease. Either way this kid's gonna be picking up his diploma in diapers and a wheelchair."

Chase shakes his head. "Maybe not that bad, could be an infection."

"You wish. No fever, no white count. Anyone think this differential diagnosis might be compromised because we don't have an accurate family history?"

Cameron pouts. "I took an accurate family history."

House scoffs. "You didn't even take an accurate family. His father's not his father."

Chase challenges him. "Why would you say that?"

"Thirty percent of all dads out there don't realize they're raising someone else's kid."

Foreman frowns. "From what I've read false paternity is more like ten percent."

"That's what our moms would like us to believe."

Cameron crosses her arms. "Who cares? If he got it from his parents they'd both be dead by now, can we get on with the differential diagnosis?"

"Fifty bucks says I'm right."

Foreman is up for it. "I'll take your money."

"Hit a nerve?" House grins patronizingly. "Don't worry, Eric. I'm sure the guy who tucked you in at night was your daddy."

"Make it a hundred dollars."

"What about leukoencephalopathy? In a thirteen year old." Cameron urges the boys back to the case.

Chase sighs. "It doesn't necessarily have to be that bad. If we exclude the night terrors it could be something systemic: his liver, kidneys, something outside the brain."

"Yes, feel free to exclude any symptom if it makes your job easier."

"The night terrors were anecdotal. He could have had a bad dream."

Cameron shakes her head. "No, parents said he was conscious during the event and didn't remember anything afterwards. That's a night terror."

Chase catches something. "Parents said?"

House nods. "That's a good point. Before we condemn this kid, maybe we should entertain Dr. Chase's skepticism. I want a detailed polysomnograph. If he's having night terrors I want to see them."

A few hours later, Dan is in an isolation room. He is covered in wires, tubes and other medical stuff. Foreman is typing on a computer and monitoring Dan. House comes into the room with a tray on wheels. The thirteen year old sits up and is obviously scared. House tightens the restraints that are on Dan's arms.

"I usually don't move during night terrors."

House frowns. "I'm not restraining you for them. EEG revealed abnormalities in your brain caused by nerve damage in your toes."

House starts to draw a line around the base of Dan's big toe, and the younger teen begins to whimper. Foreman is no longer in the room.

"What are you doing?" He's near to tears.

"Fixing it." House grins spitefully.

"C-C-Can I talk to my parents?" He stutters in fear. 

"Oh, they know all about this."

"I-I-I'd really like to see them. P-Please! I'd really like them here."

House pointedly ignores him. "This is gonna hurt, Dan. "

House takes up a big tool that looks like monster wire cutters and starts to cut off Dan's big toe. The younger teen is terrified and begins to scream. He throws his head back, writhing in pain as the loud bone-cutting crunching noises erupt from the area by his feet. Suddenly, the restraints are gone. All four doctors are in the room, but no one is around his feet. His eyes are wide open, still screeching. Chase looks over to a monitor with a shocked look on his face.

"That's a night terror."

It is Tuesday morning and all the student doctors are exempt from school. There is an understanding with the school administration and the hospital administration. They've been working through the night, trying to fix this kid – who is only two years younger than Foreman and Chase, and only one year younger than Cameron. The doctors are back in House's office, tiredly sitting at the long desk.

"We did a CT, MRI, CBC, Chem-7 and chest x-ray. All the tests came back normal." Foreman sounds confused. "There's nothing to explain his symptoms."

"Okay, but let's pretend there's something and go from there." House rubs his eyes. "Who sees something on this MRI?"

"No lesions, no white matter."

"No structural abnormalities."

"No space-occupying tumors."

House stares intently. "He's thirteen, so he should have an absolutely pristine brain. The smallest thing is abnormal."

"Meningeal enhancement." Chase offers. "My bet is viral meningitis."

"Excellent, you see what he did there? He took a small clue that there's a neurological problem and wasn't afraid to run with it."

Foreman sighs. "There's no evidence of meningitis on that MRI."

"No, there's not, he's completely wrong."

Cameron looks over to him. "Then what clue are you talking about?"

"He knew that I saw something on the MRI so he figured there must be something there and took a guess. Clever, but also pathetic."

"So, what did you find?"

"Take a close look at the corpus callosum."

"It looks okay."

"Are we all looking at the same thing? Two hundred million interhemispheric nerve fibers, the George Washington Bridge between the left and right side of the brain. It's subtle."

The ducklings move closer to look at the MRI. Chase points at the screen.

"There's some bowing, there. An upward arch."

"Are you guessing?"

"Yes."

"Too bad, you're right."

Foreman groans. "He probably just moved, nobody stays perfectly still for their entire MRI."

"Yeah, he probably got restless and shifted one hemisphere of his brain to a more comfortable position." House answers. "Something is pushing on it."

"If there's bowing it could be a tumor."

"Do you see a tumor on this MRI?"

"No, but I don't see any bowing, either."

"There's no tumor, just a blockage causing pressure, causing symptoms. Today: night terrors, tomorrow he's bleeding out of his eyes. Get him a radionucleotide cisternogram. I guarantee you'll see a blockage."

A few hours later, Foreman and Chase have had naps under House's guard. Cameron is enjoying her nap now, while Foreman is in Dan's room. He places an extraordinarily large needle in the younger teen's back. This seems to be causing Dan a lot of pain, and his Dad is holding him while he grunts and groans.

"Ok…all right easy…" His dad continues to whisper to his son.

"Now, I'm injecting a material that's tagged with a radioactive isotope. It's gonna enter your spine and travel up to your brain. It'll make you able to think deep thoughts, at about 100 miles per hour."

His dad continues to whisper, assuring Dan that he's okay Foreman is checking out the Dad and Dan, trying to prove that the guy really is Dan's dad. He sees that they both have a strange fleck in their irises. When he gets done with the tests, he lets the family be together. The tall black teen then walks back to the testing lab with news.

"Their eyes aren't the same color, but that fleck in the eyes… that's maybe a one in ten chance if they're not related?"

Chase waves his hand. "Nah, House isn't gonna pay you based on that."

Foreman chuckles. "Any excuse we can give the folks to justify a DNA test?"

"We could tell them he's got Huntington's. The whole family should be tested or they'll all die."

Foreman chuckles again. He looks up to see House approaching.

"Hey, there's a lot of blockage."

"I've scheduled him for surgery." Chase adds. "They're gonna put a shunt into one of the ventricles to give the cerebrospinal fluid an out."

"No more pressure, everything goes back to normal."

House smirks. "He's lucky to have you as his doctors."

House walks away, leaving Foreman and Chase to their duties. He'd woken Cameron up a few minutes ago and she's busy with her own part in the case. House is in an exam room – against his will – with a young mother and her baby.

"No formula, just mommy's healthy natural breast milk." The young woman, Karen, is explaining.

House's eyebrows shoot up. "Yummy."

"Her whole face just got swollen like this overnight."

"Mm-hmm. No fever, glands normal, missing her vaccination dates."

Karen shifts. "We're not vaccinating."

Her baby giggles and coos in her mom's arms. Karen holds up a toy frog and makes sounds that the child finds hilarious.

" Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit."

House winces at the stupidity. "Think they don't work?"

"I think some multinational pharmaceutical company wants me to think they work. Pad their bottom line."

"Mmmm." He nods. "May I?" He reaches for the frog, playing the gribbit noise with the baby. Karen nods confusingly while her baby laughs.

"All natural, no dyes. That's a good business: all-natural children's toys. Those toy companies, they don't arbitrarily mark up their frogs. They don't lie about how much they spend on research and development. The worst a toy company can be accused of is making a really boring frog." House concedes as he chuckles politely. Karen smiles and her baby giggles again.

"Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit. You know another really good business?" His lighthearted joking façade breaks, though he continues to play with the frog – albeit away from the baby now. "Teeny tiny baby coffins. You can get them in frog green or fire engine red. Really. The antibodies in yummy mummy only protect the kid for 6 months, which is why these companies think they can gouge you. They think that you'll spend whatever they ask to keep your kid alive. Want to change things? Prove them wrong. A few hundred parents like you decide they'd rather let their kid die then cough up 40 bucks for a vaccination, believe me, prices will drop _really_ fast. Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit, gribbit, gribbit."

Karen's eyes widen, snatching the toy back. "Tell me what she has."

"A cold."

House gratefully leaves the clinic after sitting through that debacle. The ducklings all approach, and walk with House.

"There's a problem." Cameron complains.

House raises a slightly concerned eyebrow. "Complications in surgery?"

"Surgery went fine, he's in recovery, but we took a vial of CSF and tested it." Foreman responds.

"Really?"

"Turns out the bowing wasn't the cause of his problems, it was a symptom."

It's Chase's turn to add, "Oligoclonal bands, and an increase of intrathecal IGG."

"Which means multiple sclerosis." House pauses, turning around in the hall to face them. "And the reason it takes three of you to tell me this?"

Cameron looks between Chase and Foreman. "Because we're having a disagreement about whether or not it is MS."

Chase puts in, "No lesions on the MRI."

Foreman scoffs. "It's early; he's had the disease for maybe two weeks."

Cameron groans. "McDonald criteria requires six months to make a definitive diagnosis."

"Oh, who cares about McPherson?" House starts walking again. "I hear he tortured kittens."

"McDonald."

"Oh, McDonald. Wonderful doctor, loved kittens."

"The VEP indicates slowing of the brain."

"Without the lesions we can't be sure."

"Well if it is, it's gone from 0 to 60 in three weeks, which would indicate rapidly progressive MS. Not the fun MS with the balloons and the bike rides for cripples in wheelchairs."

"We should wait until we"

House cuts her off. "Start treating him now, he can walk for another couple of years, maybe live for another 5. Break it to the family. I'm going home."

Chase heads to Dan's room. He's there to explain the whole MS thing.

"It'll take months for a definitive diagnosis."

"What'll happen to me?"

"MS is an incredibly variable disease, if it is MS, and we're not 100% sure. "

"What do you think is gonna happen?"

After a long pause, Chase replies. "There are some medications to manage the symptoms, but as the disease progresses the problems will become more severe: bowel and bladder dysfunction, loss of cognitive function, pain."

"It's gonna hurt?"

"The brain's like a big jumble of wires. MS strips them of the insulation, and the nerves die. The brain interprets it as pain, but by starting treatment we're gonna avoid that for as long as possible. We're looking into a couple specialists, and until we get you squared away you'll stay here. Okay?"

At six at night, a nurse is walking around with trays. The nurse enters Dan's room, and he's missing. She alerts the team handling the case, and the hospital is slowly shutting down.

"Security checked the videotapes for all the perimeter cameras; he's still gotta be in the hospital." Cameron runs over to Foerman.

"Where's Chase?"

"Main floor."

"Okay, you take the cafeteria and administration. I'll hit the research annex and work my way back to you."

Chase is wandering around in a dark office, while Foreman is with security and Cameron is opening doors. Meanwhile, in Greg apartment, he's sitting in a chair brooding. There's a TV show on in the background, but he isn't paying the slightest bit of attention. His mom had called earlier and, after listening to the message, Greg has no reason to do anything. The phone keeps ringing and he pays it no attention except to glance over at the first ring. He has a beer sitting on the table at the edge of his couch, but he's made no move to touch it. A little orange bottle with a white cap sits by it. There's six pills missing and it was only refilled yesterday. He feels a little guilt staring at the bottle, but ultimately ignores everything. The machine clicks on, instructing callers to leave a message, but Greg has already lifted himself out of the chair. He's gotten his jacket on and his keys are in his pocket. He shuts the door as a voice begins to tell him what he's already expected. As he drives, he turns from brooding Greg to cynical House.

House approaches the double doors as Cuddy is leaving. She looks up surprised.

"Dr. Cuddy, great outfit."

"What are you doing back here? Patient?"

"No, refill. My damn leg."

"Greg, you just got a refill yesterday."

"Oh, yeah. Psych meds." He nods. "Helps me bend the truth. Like saying 'great outfit'."

House walks off and Lisa leaves a little pissed off.

House steps directly to the elevator after re-checking in. The doors open and House steps out. He heads down a hallway, and is intercepted by Foreman.

"Dr. House, Dan's missing."

"Yeah, I got that part from the message." He guesses, knowing they wouldn't call if he wasn't needed. "You said I was needed immediately."

"He shouldn't move after a lumbar puncture."

"I agree, he's gonna have a very nasty headache. That would also be my opinion if consulted tomorrow morning."

"We wanted to keep you informed. He heard some pretty heavy news."

House sighs. "This is not a toddler wandering around a department store. He's thirteen. You'll find him. I'm going home."

"So, when you say "Call me if you need anything," You mean, "Don't call me"."

"No, I mean "Call me if I can do something." I'm bad at search parties and I'm bad at sitting around looking nervous doing nothing."

"What about his parents? Should we call them?"

"Why? You think they're hiding him? Make sure someone checks the roof; some of the orderlies keep the door propped open so they can grab a smoke."

He gets back into the elevator and leaves the hospital. Foreman and Cameron run up the stairs. Dan is standing there looking around, when Chase carefully walks up.

"Dan? You ok?" He pauses to catch his breath. "There are experimental treatments, ongoing research… Who knows what they'll discover in a year or two?"

"This is where I dropped the ball." He ignores the doctor, imaging the middle school football field.

"Dan, we're standing on the roof of the hospital! Dan! Dan, you're not on the field!"

Foreman and Cameron have arrived. Foreman looks apprehensive and Cameron looks extremely worried. She comes to a realization.

"He doesn't know where he is."

"Dan!"

"Foreman!" Chase calls out quietly, motioning that Foreman shouldn't move just yet.

Chase moves slightly closer. "Dan."

Cameron calls out as well, when Dan nears the edge. "Dan!"

"Dan! No!" Foreman stays rooted to his spot, though.

Dan goes to step off the roof, and Chase tackles him. The next morning is Wednesday. Foreman is walking down the steps to catch House, while Cameron and Chase are meeting with their tutor. Foreman finds House waiting for the elevator, as expected.

"Dr. Foreman. I assume you found the kid." 

"He almost walked off the roof."

"Suicidal?"

"No, he thought he was on his lacrosse field. Look, look, I was just gonna run home, shower, change…" He could go on but House interrupts him.

"Conscious?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you talk him down?"

"Actually, Chase tackled him."

House smirks at the sight. "How come you didn't do it?"

"Right, well, I am black, but he was closer."

"Alright, go on and shower. Just be back by lunch."

Eric nods by means of thanks. He checks out and leaves the hospital. House goes up to his office and finds Cameron and Chase there with their tutor, going over physical science.

"Anybody tell the family that their boy almost stepped off a roof? They must be thrilled."

Cameron places her pen down. "They're not suing, but I think only because Chase asked them."

"Why does everyone always think I'm being sarcastic? This is great news! He doesn't have MS. The parents should be thrilled, well, the mom anyway. Of course, the dad probably doesn't know…" He trails off.

"Why doesn't he have MS?" Chase questions, setting his pen down as well. 

"He was on the roof thinking he was on the lacrosse field, conscious, and therefore not a night terror." He moves to the drinks and looks back at the adolescents. "You want some of this?" 

"Yeah, sure." Chase is grateful.

"Yeah, thanks."

House continues with the case as he makes three coffees. "He was in an acute confusional state, which doesn't fit with a demyelinating disease like MS."

"The oligoclonal bands." Cameron picks out.

"Were real. They just mean something other then MS. So, what are they telling us?"

"That the immune system is working." She adds.

"Right, he has an infection in his brain."

"What about sex?" Chase proposes.

"Well, it might get complicated. We work together. I am older, certainly, but maybe you like that."

Chase blushes. "I meant maybe he has neurosyphilis."

"Heh, nice cover."

"Sorry," Cameron shakes her head. "RPR was negative."

"We don't need a definitive test to confirm this." He hands two coffees out, and then moves back to grab his own.

"Sure, didn't need one to confirm MS."

"Okay, let's wait for you to run titers on 4000 viruses while this kid's brain turns to mush."

"So the fact that he doesn't have MS is, it's really not good news after all?"

"Well, it is if it's neurosyphilis, the likelihood of a false negative on an RPR test, 30%, the likelihood of a thirteen year old having sex, roughly 120%."

"I'll start him on IV penicillin."

"We're not going to wait for that. The most effective way to deliver the drug is right into his brain via the spine."

"We can't. In a cramped space like the brain, increased intracranial pressure from a high-volume drug like penicillin could herniate his brain stem and kill him." Cameron stands up. "No neurologist in his right mind would recommend that."

House turns around carefully, eying the duo as well as the awkwardly sitting tutor. "Show of hands. Who thinks I'm not in my right mind?"

No one raises their hand.

"And who thinks I forget this fairly basic neurological fact?"

Again, no one raises their hand. 

"Who thinks there's a third option?"

Chase raises his hand. 

"Very good, what's the third choice?"

"No idea, you just asked if I thought there was one."

Cameron sighs. "The patient has a shunt in his brain. There'll be no increased pressure, we can put as much penicillin into his body as we want." 

"Excellent, inject him through a lumbar puncture."

In Dan's room, Dan's dad Aaron is there too. Chase has him curls in the fetal position to inject him like discussed.

"One of us is going to do this to you twice a day for the next two weeks."

Dan sighs and his dad speaks up. "He could get syphilis even if he's not sexually active?"

Dan looks at Chase with sort of a pleading look on his face.

"Well, it's unusual, but it's possible. Relax."

Dan sighs again, and then grunts in pain. It's almost lunchtime and House in unfortunately in an exam room in the free clinic. There's a guy with a really nasty pussy abscess on his knee. House backs off after he sees it.

"Geesh. It's infected, with a really big hole like you stuck a nail in it to relieve the pressure."

The patient, Mr. Funsten, squirms. "I wouldn't do that."

"Although the wound is irregular, not cylindrical, it's shaped like a triangle, so not a nail. Steak knife?"

He looks down. "Wife's nail file."

"Nail File." House whispers before peaking normal. "Yeah, pain'll make you do stupid things. Something to take the edge off?"

He takes out his pain pills and puts one in the patient's hand. Mr. Funsten takes it warily and 'cheers' with House. The teen doctor dry swallows said pill, while Mr. Funsten chews his. House limps back over to the wheeled stool and takes a seat. 

"So, do you have family here in Princeton?"

"No."

"Here on work?"

"No, why are you" 

"Does your penis hurt?"

"No." He eyes the pocket where House had placed the pill bottle. "What? Should it?"

"No, just thought I'd toss you a really inappropriate question. Your lawyer's gonna love it."

"Why would I want to sue you? I want you to treat me." 

"You're from Maplewood, New Jersey. Right?"

"Yeah."

"Now, why would you drive seventy miles to get treatment for a condition that a nine year old could diagnose? It's the free-flowing pus that's the tip-off."

"I was in town."

"Not for family, not for work. You drove seventy miles to a walk-in-clinic. You passed two hospitals on the road. Now, either you have a problem with those hospitals, or they have a problem with you. My guess is that you've sued half the doctors in Maplewood, and the rest are now refusing to treat you. It's ironic, isn't it? It's like the boy who sued wolf. You know what? I bet we have a doctor here named Wolfe. How perfect would that be? I'm gonna page him."

"Okay, you know what?" Mr. Funsten stands then. "Thank you, I'm gonna find a doctor to take care of this."

"I didn't say I wouldn't treat you. We'll drain your knee, run some lab work, fix you right up."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm a people person."

After dealing with the man, House runs into Wilson at the elevator. House relegates the whole ordeal. Wilson is shocked as they exit.

"You actually treated him?"

"All I know is that he sued some doctors, who am I to assume that they didn't have it coming to them." He stops in the hall when he sees Cuddy coming.

"The cutest little tennis outfit, my God I thought I was going to have a heart attack." He switches tactics, acting like he just realized that Cuddy was there. "Oh my, I didn't see you there, that is so embarrassing."

Cuddy only smirks. "How's your hooker doing?"

"Oh, sweet of you to ask, funny story, she was going to be a hospital administrator, but hated having to screw people like that."

"I heard you found her on the roof."

"You have very acute hearing." House raises an eyebrow.

"You notify the parents?"

"In due course, of course."

"And is there a paternity bet on the father of the patient?"

"Doesn't sound like me."

Wilson chimes in. "Well, it does actually, but that doesn't mean you're guilty."

"You think?"

"I saw the parents in the lobby, smart money is obviously on the father." Cuddy smirks then. 

In a stage whisper, House leans in to Cuddy. "My guy knows a guy who can get you in for $50 bucks."

"Fine. You tell your guy if I win, you attend the faculty symposium and you wear a tie."

"And if I win, no clinic hours for a week."

"My guy will call your guy."

Cuddy walks off, leaving House and Wilson grinning in the hall.

Wilson nudges House's arm. "She's very good at her job."

In Dan's room, Chase is giving him his treatment; and Cameron is at his head.

"The treatments should start helping soon. Let us know if it gets easier to focus on things, remember stuff."

Dan is obviously in pain, and Chase tries to get his mind on something else.

"Hey Dan, isn't Dr. Cameron's necklace a beauty? Something South American, I think."

"Yeah, Guatemalan." She smiles.

"It's a cool necklace."

She looks down and sees that it's in a very revealing spot.

"Thank you so much." She scoffs to Chase.

"The kid's in pain."

 _Don't fight it. Just let it happen._ Dan zones out, listening to the voices in his head.

"No."

Chase stops. "No, what?"

 _You'll be dead in three days._ _I give it a day._

Chase and Cameron are worried for the thirteen-year old patient, moreso when he starts shaking and spasming. Cameron realizes he's hearing voices, and Chase calls in some nurses to help.

Dan screams. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

It is past lunchtime now. Foreman is well-rested and has met with his tutor. Chase and Cameron have also finished their segments with the tutor. All three are now with House in his office, working though differential diagnosis.

"Auditory hallucination shows further brain degeneration." Cameron bites her lip.

Chase shakes his head. "Penicillin's not working."

"So, either it's a bad batch of penicillin, or our diagnosis is wrong. Square one. "Midnight"."

House gets up and writes M,I,D,N,I,T on the white board.

Foreman starts it up. "LFTs, BUN, and creatinine, are all normal, diabetes is out. No gap."

"There goes metabolic." House crosses off "M".

Cameron's turn. "MRI rules out vasculitis." 

"That's "I" for inflammation." He crosses out the "I".

"Too young for anything degenerative." Chase smacks his lips.

"Okay. "D", see ya." He crosses out the "D". "What of "N" for neoplastic?"

Chase shakes his head. "MRI was clean."

House crosses out the "N".

"There's "I" for inflammation."

"We already did that." 

"Stupid to have two I's in one pneumonic. What's the other one?"

"Infection."

"Oligoclonal bands still have to mean something."

"But no fevers; white count's elevated but within range."

"And we've tested for anything remotely possible. Everything is negative."

House crosses out the other "I".

"CT scan rules out subdural."

"Trauma, later much." House then looks at the board which is now all crossed out.

"You know the problem? Midnight is actually spelled with a "G" and an "H," If we could just figure out what those two letters stand for." He sighs in defeat and walks away from the board.

With his back now facing the ducklings, he continues. "It's a sick brain, having fun, torturing him, talking to him." He pauses. "Scaring the hell out of him. Get him an EEG, left and right EOG esophageal microphones. If this thing wants to talk, let's listen."

The ducklings go off and House moves to sit outside with Wilson. _Good ol' Wilson. I can always come to him for help, and he doesn't make me say it._

"We're missing something. This is screwed up."

"That's why you came up with the brain talking to the virus thing?"

"I panicked, okay? Sounded cool though, they bought it."

House sees Dan's parents walking his way, and he groans audibly. 

"Oh, crap. Another reason I don't like meeting patients. If they don't know what you look like they can't yell at you. Here we go."

Dan's mom, Erica, squeals. "How can you just sit there?" 

"If I eat standing up, I spill." He remarks sarcastically.

Aaron steps up. "Our son is dying, and you could care less? We're going through hell; you're doing nothing?"

"I'm sorry, you need to vent, I understand."

"Don't be condescending. You haven't checked in on him once."

In a smug breath, he recites everything he knows about Dan's condition. "Blood pressure's 110/70, the shunt is patent well placed in the right lateral ventricle, the EKG shows a normal QRS with deep wave inversions throughout both limb and pericardial leads. LFTs are elevated but only twice the normal range. Oh yeah, and he's hearing voices." He pauses. "Go hold his hand. Go on; I'll bus your tray."

Shocked, they walk off holding hands. Wilson is noticeably impressed, but he says nothing.

"Got any sample bags on you?"

Wilson's eyes widen then. "I don't believe you. You're gonna run DNA tests?"

"Their son is deathly ill, I know it's terrible, but the fact is if I don't keep busy with trivial things like this I'm afraid I might start to cry."

"You're an ass." Wilson rolls his eyes.

"Yeah? You want to double the bet?"

Against his better judgemtn, Wilson nods. House grins and leaves to a specific lab. He finds Cameron and Foreman inside, working on the tests.

"General Hospital is on channel 6."

Foreman turns his head. "Dan's brain's not showing channel 6 right now, only mush."

"No epileptiform activity." He turns to Cameron. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for CBC and Chem-7." 

"Good." House remarks as he puts down two cups that are labeled "Mommy" and "Daddy?". "Run DNA on these."

"What's this?"

"Parents' coffee cups."

"I can't believe you"

House interrupts impatiently. "I've had this conversation once already. If you've got something else to do, do it. Otherwise, do this."

House leaves and starts down the hallway.

"Dr. House?" Mr. Funsten, the patient from before in the clinic runs up.

"Hey, Mr. Funsten!" He stops, calling out with false enthusiasm. "I was wondering when you'd be back. Got some papers for me?"

"You've caused me considerable mental distress."

"I certainly hope so." Mr. Funsten hands him an envelope. "What? Too cheap to have your lawyer serve it for you, or is it more fun this way?"

"I'm obviously prepared to consider a settlement."

"You have gonorrhea."

"No, I don't!"

House starts walking, aware Mr. Funsten is following him. "Well, maybe you're right, but I have a lab result that says you do. It could be a false positive; normally I'd run a second test, but since you're here I'll just go with the first. "

"You're just trying to scare me."

"It's reportable you know, public health issue." 

"I'll be sure to let my wife know."

"Oh, don't bother yourself, the state will call for you. Look, if you're clean I'm sure this will all blow over, no big deal. There's an easy way to find out, get one of your doctors to run a test."

Mr. Funsten grabs for the papers, but House snatches them away.

"Uh-uh. These are mine now." He calls out in excitement. "I'll see you in court." With that, he enters the elvator they've walked to.

Back in the lab, the ducklings are trying to prove positive or negative tests.

Foreman comes up first. "West Nile negative, not surprising, since not too many mosquitoes passing through Jersey in December."

"No Eastern Equine Encephalitis." Chase trows his hands up.

"You guys aren't going to believe this." Cameron calls.

"What's that?"

"House was right, the father's not the father."

Foreman sighs. "Dude doubled up on me."

"You're not gonna believe this, the mother's not the mother either."

The ducklings page House with the news. Immediately, he is outraged. In Cuddy's office, she's talking with Aaron and Erica.

"It's not a good idea to move your son in his condition."

"We just want a second opinion." Erica informs Cuddy.

"We need an answer."

House barges in, singling out the parents."You idiots! You lied to me!"

Aaron frowns. "We didn't lie about anything. You, on the other hand, accused us of molesting our son."

"Perfect." This is the first time Cuddy's heard about this.

"Can we get off my screw-ups and focus on theirs? Theirs is bigger. You're not Dan's parents."

"We're his parents." Erica snaps.

"He was adopted. He doesn't need to know."

"I do."

"Adoption makes him just as much his"

House cuts off Aaron. "Listen, when we were taking his medical history, were you confused? Did you think we were looking for a genetic clue to his condition, or did you think we were trying to ascertain who loves him the most in the whole wide world?"

"How did you find out about this?" Cuddy asks.

"I sampled their DNA."

"We didn't give you any DNA."

"Your coffee cups from the cafeteria."

"You can't do that!" Cuddy stands up.

"Again, why are we getting hung up on what I did? [Turns to Dan's parents] Your medical history is useless."

"No, we gave you a detailed history of his biological mother." 

Erica lists it off. "Her history; non-smoker, good health, low cholesterol, no blood pressure problems."

"Dan was adopted two weeks after he was born. You have his history. There's nothing you need to know that we didn't tell you."

"Sounds reasonable. Well, if you want to transfer your boy that is your choice, but I still think it's the wrong"

House cuts her off. "Was she vaccinated?" After a pause, he clarifies. "The biological mother, when she was a baby, did she get her vaccinations?" 

"Dan was vaccinated at 6 months."

"Mm hmm, and do you know why kids get vaccinated at 6 months? Because before that, they are protected by their biological mother's immune system. So, was she vaccinated?"

Aaron and Erica exchange glances and then lower their gazes to the floor. Cuddy frowns at the new information, but House is done there. He pages his team to make sure they're all in the office as he takes an elevator to meet them. Soon as his foot is in the door, he explains what's happening.

"An infant picks up a regular old measles virus. He gets a rash, he's extremely uncomfortable, has a wicked fever, but he lives. Here's the kicker, once every million or so times, the virus mutates. Instead of Dan having a fever and a rash the virus travels to his brain and hides like a time bomb. In this case for thirteen years."

"Sub-acute Sclerosing Pan-encephalitis." Foreman is shocked.

"I know. There's only been 20 cases in the United States in the past 30 years."

"I suppose you could make an argument that the kid's still in stage one. Once SSPE moves to stage two"

"Boom, stage two is universally fatal."

Cameron whines, "I assume it's impossible to tell when he might move into stage two." 

"He's already started showing symptoms. It could be a month, it could be tonight."

"Can we treat it?" 

"Ask the wannabe neurologist."

Foreman nods. "Intraventricular interferon."

"We're not gonna shove a spike into his brain and drip interferon without confirming this diagnosis."

House shrugs. "Tap him."

"We won't get a reliable result for measles antibodies in his CSF, not after everything we've given him."

"So the wrong treatment kills any hope of the right diagnosis. Why do people lie to me?" House sighs. "It could also kill him. Your ball, Foreman, tell me I don't have to biopsy his brain."

Foreman sighs this time. "Well, there is one other way."

They decide to perform the biopsy in an alternative way. A few hours later, they're in a dark room. Dan is strapped in so he can't move while a _huge_ needle is pointed directly at his right eye. Dan glances from the corner of his eyes, to Foreman.

"You sure this isn't gonna hurt?"

"Yeah, it's just scary as hell. See, we go through the pupil. You won't feel it; the eye's been paralyzed. The needle travels to the back of the eye, which is where we perform the biopsy on your retina."

The machine starts and the needle enters Dan's eye. The measles virus from earlier is sitting there and then getting sucked up. Once the small, delicate procedure is completed, Dan is sent to the operating room. Foreman walks outside to talk with Dan's parents.

"So we've confirmed that the problem is this mutated virus. The treatment for SSPE is intra-ventricular interferon. We implant an Ommaya reservoir under the scalp, which is connected to a ventricular catheter that delivers the antiviral directly to the left hemisphere"

Aaron interrupts him. "Look, you want us to consent to this? I don't even understand what you're talking about."

"Well, the antiviral… Look, I'm sorry, I can explain this as best I can, but the notion that you're gonna fully understand your son's treatment and make an informed decision, is, it's kinda insane. Now, here's what you need to know, it's dangerous, it could kill him, you should do it."

In the operating room, Dan is awake on the table. There's a doctor with a drill standing behind him. Cameron and Foreman are there, and the drill makes a hole in Dan's skull.

As this is occurring, House is attempting to pull wages with Cuddy in her office.

"You can't order a $3,200 DNA test to win a bet."

House frowns at this. "It's not an actual cost. I don't know if you know this, but the hospital actually owns the sequencing machine."

"I'm serious."

"Well, tell the parents to submit the bill to insurance."

"Insurance is not going to pay for a bet."

"It should. If we don't make that bet, the kid dies. If not for the paternity bet, I never would have taken their DNA, without their DNA we never would have discovered that Dan was adopted, which was the key to this case. You just don't want to pay your end. Big mistake. My guy knows a guy."

"Fine. I will let you out of clinic duty for one week, after you pay the $3,200 for the PCR test."

House sighs and picks up his cane. He limps over to her desk, and slams his cane down.

"Whoo."

House grins, pulling money from his wallet. "Well now, there's the $100 you owe me, there's the $100 I won from Cameron, $200 I took off of Foreman, and $600 I got from Wilson. He's very bitter."

Everyone on the team stays over another night. They switch from taking naps to watching over Dan. Currently, Foreman and Cameron are in Dan's room. It's a little past nine in the morning. House has just got in; hanging out with Wilson in the latter's office. Chase has woken from his nap and is currently in House's office with his tutor. Dan wakes up.

"Hey, good morning." Cameron smiles.

"Morning? What day is it?"

Foreman answers, "Thursday. Good news on your EEG, treatment is working."

"And your immune system is responding."

"I know it's early, but let me take a look. Let's see what that brain of yours can do. Name as many animals as you can that start with the letter "O"."

"Ostrich, ox," Dan grins. "Old elephant."

"Well, that's two better than last time. How you doing with the whole adoption thing?" 

"I knew since fifth grade.

Foreman's eyes widen. "How's that?"

"Cleft chin. I have one, my dad doesn't. I looked it up on the Internet; it's one of those trait things."

"That's right, it's autosomal dominant. Since neither of your parents have cleft chins, it's highly unlikely that you're biologically related."

Cameron is still concerned. "You sure you're ok?"

"I've got no problems with being adopted. I love my parents."

On that note, Dan's parents enter.

"How's he doing?" Aaron asks.

"He's doing pretty well." Cameron smiles. "He's a smart kid. I think he's gonna be fine."

"Thanks."

In Wilson's office, House gets a page. As he tucks it back in his pocket, Wilson questions the movemtn knowingly.

"Patient released?"

"Yep. Healthy with two non-parents."

"They're still his parents." Wilson rolls his eyes. "Got anything planned for tonight?"

"What's tonight?"

"It's Thursday." Wilson remarks, and then smiles. "It's Thanksgiving."

House shrugs. "Depends. Get me anything?"

"Depends." Wilson mimics. "What are we doing?"

"Chinese and monster trucks?"

"Sounds like a plan." 

James follows Greg to the latter's house in his Volvo. The last thing James wants to do is have another Thanksgiving dinner with his family, and Greg knows all to well what they're like. In no time, James and Greg are hanging out on the couch. They play a few fighting games on the Xbox and eat delivered Chinese, and watch monster trucks destroy other cars. Two weekends later, it's the first Saturday of December. Greg is standing on the sidelines, watching a lacrosse game with mild amusement.

"Wheels, one-eight!" Greg calls out, still keeping to himself. "Wheels!"

Player eighteen makes a goal. Greg's hand moves with the player's movement, and Greg gives a small smile. The team all gathers around and cheers together. Greg then picks up his cane and holds it like a lacrosse stick. He sticks around for hours. Eventually, a car pulls up behind him and honks the horn. Greg takes this as his cue and limps out onto the field, heading for James's old Volvo.

I am very tired now. Writing this like teenagers takes a lot out of me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, Everybody! Welcome back. This is 1.03 – Occam's Razor. I am back in school now, so there may be more writing while I should be completing homework and more uploads inbetween classes. Things will remain pretty much canon until about halfway through the second season… but I have no idea how long it'll take me to get up there. I plan on uploading every Wednesday before my psychology class starts… so we'll see how it goes.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

In a regular patient's room, there lies a fifteen-year-old boy hooked up to a lot of medical wires and tubes. A girl roughly the same age is sitting in a chair next to him. He looks very uncomfortable. Downstairs, Wilson is trying to urge House to take over the case.

"Why do you want me to treat this guy?"

Wilson goes the medicinal route. "Blood pressure's not responding to IV fluids."

"No, no I didn't ask how you plan to con me into treating him, I asked you why _you_ want me to treat him."

"He's sick, I care, I'm pathetic."

"There are about a billion sick people on the planet, why this one?" They climb into the elevator, still talking about the kid apparently named Brandon.

"Because this one's is in our emergency room."

"Ah, so it's a proximity issue. If somebody was sick in the third floor stairwell that's who we would be talking about."

"Yes, I checked the stairwell, it's clear." 

"Okay then, emergency room guy it is."

Wilson raises an eyebrow. "Wait, how was that so easy?"

"You know why."

Wilson smiles. "Blood pressure's not responding to IV fluids?"

"Yeah, that's just weird."

House exits the elevator, heading to his office where the ducklings await.

"CBC was unremarkable, abdominal CT scan didn't show anything. So, people, differential diagnosis. What's wrong with her?"

"Him." Cameron corrects, looking over the file.

"Him, her, does it matter? Does anyone think it is a testicular problem? No, so Chase…"

"Absidia infection?"

"No, you wouldn't get the rash or cough. What about arthritis? Accompanying vasculitis causes nerve damage –" 

"No, it wouldn't cause the blood pressure problems. Allergy?" Cameron questions.

"Big Boss has got abdominal pain. Maybe carcinoid?"

"Nah, but then you wouldn't get the –"

He's instantly cut off as House slams a giant book in front of him.

"Foreman, if you're going to list all the things it's not, it might be quicker to do it alphabetically. Let's see. Absidia? Excellent. Doesn't account for any of the symptoms."

"No condition accounts for all these symptoms." Cameron points out.

"Well, good! Because I thought maybe he was sick, but apparently he's not. Who wants to do up the discharge papers? Okay, unless we control the blood pressure, he's going to start circling the drain before we can figure out what's wrong with him. Treat him for sepsis, broad-spectrum antibiotics and I want a cort-stim test and an echocardiogram."

As the ducklings leave, House calls out to Chase.

"Yeah?"

"Big Boss? You know this kid?"

Chase winces. "Um, yeah… We go to school together."

"Of course you do." House rolls his eyes. "Just go to the labs and do homework or something."

Chase does as said. Foreman and Cameron move on to complete the echocardiogram. Brandon is coughing.

"You all right?"

"Yeah." He smiles softly at her.

"Cort-stim tests will tell us if your pituitary and adrenal glands are working properly."

The girl, Mindy, is asking questions for him. "His glands? What does that mean?"

"We have a few theories we're working on."

Mindy narrows her eyes at Cameron. "You mean you don't know."

"Mindy…" Brandon complains.

"I'm just saying if they knew they wouldn't be testing you, they'd be treating you."

"Yeah, well, that's the way it works. First you find out what it is, then we get you better."

While Cameron and Foreman deal with Brandon and Misty, House reluctantly enters the clinic. Lisa meets him at the front desk, hands on her hips.

"You're half an hour late."

He only shrugs in response. "Busy caseload."

"One case is not a "load"."

"So, how are we doing on cotton swabs today? If there's an acute shortage I could run home –"

Cuddy looks at his leg. "No, you couldn't."

"Nice." He walks over to the waiting room full of patients. "Hello, sick people and their loved ones!" He smirks as Cuddy looks at him incredulously. "In the interest of saving time and avoiding a lot of boring chit-chat later, I'm Dr. Gregory House. You can call me Greg. I'm one of three doctors staffing this clinic this morning."

"Short, sweet. Grab a file."

"This ray of sunshine is Dr. Lisa Cuddy." He continues loudly. "Dr. Cuddy runs this whole hospital so, unfortunately, she's much too busy to deal with you. I am a _bored_ certified diagnostician with a double specialty of infectious disease and nephrology. I'm also the only doctor currently employed at this clinic who is here against his will."

He pauses to look over at Cuddy, who is staring back in disbelief. "That is true, isn't it?"

With no response on her part, House continues addressing the clinic crowd. "But not to worry, because for most of you this job could be done by a monkey with a bottle of Motrin. Speaking of which, if you're particularly annoying, you may see me reach for this." He pulls out his bottle of pain killers.

"This is Vicodin. It's mine. You can't have any. And no, I do not have a pain management problem, I have a pain problem. But who knows? Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm too stoned to tell. So, who wants me?" None of the clinic patients seem too eager.

"And who would rather wait for one of the other two doctors?" Everyone raises their hands. "Okay, well, I'll be in Exam Room One if you change your mind." 

House smirks one last time at Cuddy and limps off to the aforementioned exam room. Cuddy rolls her eyes and takes the first clipboard.

"Jodi Matthews?" The woman stands. "Please accompany Dr. House to Exam Room One."

Very reluctantly, she does so. Upstairs, Mindy runs up to Cameron in the hallway.

"I'm not sure scaring your boyfriend is the best medicine for him right now."

"I know, I get… stupid when I'm scared."

"Don't go rock climbing." Cameron tries for a joke.

"Look, I was wondering…. Before this happened, we were having sex."

"What, you, you're wondering if whatever he has you might have gotten it? It's unlikely, we ran a complete STD panel, so –"

"No, I was wondering if maybe I did this to him. I was kind of rough."

In the exam room, Jodi is explaining to House about her color-changig mucus.

"It was yellow."

"It was?" He questions the woman who is approximately his mom's age.

"It's not any more."

"Hmmm, that's a shame."

"I thought that might be a problem, so I brought you this." She reaches into her purse and hands him a paint color sample card.

"Your mucus was pale goldenrod."

"Last week, yes. Should I be worried?"

"Oh, yes. Very." House responds, thinking about her mental state.

"Really? I thought I was okay now."

"And yet, here you are. What happened? Paramedics took a week to respond to your 911 call?"

Jodi frowns. "You're not a very nice doctor, are you?" 

"And you are very bad at whatever it is you do."

"You don't even know me!"

"I know you're going to get fired. That's why you got the new glasses; that's why your teeth are sparkly white. You're getting the most of your health insurance while you still can."

"I might be quitting."

"If you were quitting you would have known that last week when your snot was still pale goldenrod; you're getting fired."

Jodi looks down at her feet. "I just don't like being told what to do."

 _I know what that's like._ 'I'll get you in for a full body scan later this week."

Jodi smiles. "Thanks."

Meanwhile, Chase, Cameron and Foreman are in the lab.

"It's got to be viral. We should start running gels and titers." Foreman holds up his test results.

Cameron folds her arms. "We should test the girlfriend's theory. She thinks she rode him to death".

Foreman laughs. "What did you tell her?"

"Well, I told her fifteen-year old boys don't die of sex."

"What'd you ask her?" Chase questions. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I hope you got some specifics on exactly what was going on. It's a girl who thinks it could kill you… it's worth knowing about."

"Have you ever taken a life?"

Chase gives Cameron a dirty look. Foreman gets the full lab results from the printer.

"We should stop the antibiotics."

"It's too soon to say they're not having an effect."

"They're having an effect. His BP's falling fast." As he speaks, Brandon is harshly coughing while the IV meds hit his bloodstream. "There's fluid filling his lungs. His creatinine's rising. His kidneys are shutting down. Our treatment isn't making him better; it's killing him."

Back in House's office, Cameron is adding "kidney failure" to the list of symptoms on the white board. House sighs.

"So, we had six symptoms that didn't add up to anything, now we have seven. Who's excited?"

Foreman stands. "I don't think it complicates things. The kidney failure was caused by the antibiotics."

"Maybe."

He continues. "Typically, low blood pressure and abdominal pain means an infection. An abdominal infection causes sepsis, low blood pressure…"

Chase stands now. "Except we checked for abdominal infections."

"I know, but what if it's the other way around. What if the low blood pressure is causing the abdominal pain?"

"Viral heart infection. The intestines aren't getting enough blood, and the result is belly pain."

"I know it's not the standard presentation."

"It's a ten million to one shot."

"I thought that's what we dealt with, here. It explains the cardiomyopathy, pain, the low BP, the fever."

House finally voices his thoughts. "You read the book. Impressive. It's a ludicrously long shot that explains every one of those symptoms, except for the cough and the rash. Should we just erase those?"

Foreman shrugs. "Well, anything can cause a rash."

"Okay." House grabs an orange-colored marker. "Cardiac infection." He circles all of the applicable symptoms, puts down the marker, and then picks up a different (green) marker. "Cameron, you thought… allergy?" He circles, grabs a new (black) marker, and repeats. "Chase, what was it you thought, carcinoid? And then there's hypothyroidism, could be parasites. Finally, sinus infection."

Foreman groans. "If you're going to list all of the things it can't be, you're gonna need more colors."

House dismisses this. "Cameron was right. No condition explains all these symptoms. But orange and green covers everything."

Chase looks up incredulously. "Orange and green? Two conditions, contracted simultaneously?"

Foreman shrusg now. "Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation is always the best."

"And you think one is simpler than two."

Cameron answers smugly. "Pretty sure it is, yeah."

Challenging her, House starts up. "Baby shows up. Chase tells you that two people exchanged fluids to create this being. I tell you that one stork dropped the little tyke off in a diaper. You going to go with the two or the one?"

Foreman scoffs. "I think your argument is specious."

"I think your tie is ugly. Why is one simpler than two? It's lower, lonelier… is it simpler? Each one of these conditions is about a thousand to one shot. That means that any two of them happening at the same time is a million to one shot. Chase says that cardiac infection is a ten million to one shot, which makes my idea ten times better than yours. Get a calculator, run the numbers."

"We'll run the tests."

"Tests take time. Treatment's quicker. Start the kid on Unasyn for the sinus infection and… what was orange?" 

"Hypothyroidism."

In Brandon's room, Cameron is setting him up for treatment.

"My uncle has hypothyroidism." Brandon points out.

"Not like this. Intravenous levothyroxine is an artificial thyroid medication that should take care of it. Also, the nurses are going to start you on Unasyn, it's a more targeted antibiotic."

"For the sinus infection?" Mindy asks.

"Yes."

"And the other stuff is for… something else entirely?"

"Bad luck, huh? Don't worry, he should be back to ditching work in no time." The door then opens, and Brandon's parents (Mr. and Mrs. Merrell) come in.

"Brandon?" His mom calls.

"Hey." He answers, coughing with his words.

Mr. Merrell looks over to Cameron. Skeptically, he takes in her appearance and talks. "We're his parents. How's he doing?"

"Um, Brandon is –"

The boy cuts her off. "Um, Mom, Dad, this is Mindy. I was going to bring her home for Christmas, so…. We're engaged."

Cameron raises her eyebrows. Brandon's parents smile. The family starts actively talking and Cameron leaves the room. Chase and Foreman catch up to her in the hall.

Chase speaks first. "Tell the family House's theory?"

Foreman adds on. "Two odd conditions striking completely coincidentally at the exact same time?"

"I didn't phrase it quite that way."

Chase shakes his head. "They agree to treatment?"

"Of course they did, we're doctors." Foreman throws his arms down. "They believe whatever we tell them." He pauses after saying this. "So, is that our job? House's puppets? He comes up with an insane idea, we get to pretend it's not?"

Cameron sticks up for him. "His insane ideas are usually right. We've been here long enough to"

Foreman interrupts. "- been here long enough to have Stockholm Syndrome." Chase and Cameron laugh at that while agreeing.

Chase stops. "What? Because we don't hate him? He thinks outside the box, is that so evil?"

Foreman shakes his head again. "He has no idea where the box is! If you guys think he's right, go home. Relax. Just wait for the kid to get all better. I'm going to the lab to test for viral infections."

He walks off; Chase and Cameron follow. The ducklings head for the lab to work on gels.

Foreman holds up a screen. "Negative for Coxsackie-B virus."

Chase facepalms. "Seven down, about 5000 to go. You really think we're going to come up with your mystery virus by running gels until we guess it right?"

"No, I think we're going to get it by standing around watching other people work."

"I'm waiting for the Epstein Barr virus." He looks at Cameron, who's in another side of the lab, separated by a glass wall. "She's weird, isn't she?"

"Bad idea."

"What?"

"Bad idea. You work with her."

"What did I say?" Chase sounds offended. "Is "weird" some new ghetto euphemism for sexy, like "bad" is good and "phat" is good? Then what the hell does "good" mean?"

"Ghetto euphemism"? Chase laughs when Foreman raises his eyebrows. "You don't think she's hot?"

"No."

"Wow, then you're brilliant. And I am using "brilliant" as a euphemism." 

"Obviously, the girl is hot. You, you're not talking about her aesthetics, you're talking about if I want to jump her. I don't."

"Brilliant." He repeats. After a long pause, a test beeps. "Your Epstein Barr is ready." 

Meanwhile, in the clinic, House is very involved in his Gameboy. His clinic patient is staring over at him, slightly impatiently.

"What are you doing?"

"Level four." House answers without looking up.

"No, I mean –"

"I know what you meant. We're waiting."

"My throat hurts."

"So you said."

"How long are we waiting?"

"Two minutes less then when you asked me two minutes ago." As he states this, Cuddy walks in.

"Hi." The patient waves.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Cuddy. Nice to meet you." 

"Dr. Cuddy, thanks for the consult." House smirks and closes the Gameboy. "His throat seems to have some condition."

"Say "Ah" for me."

"Ahhhhh."

Cuddy stares at House. "He has a sore throat." 

"Of course!" House exclaims in an exaggerated tone. "Yes, why didn't I… I mean, because he said that… it hurt, and I, I should have deduced that meant it was sore…"

Cuddy is impatient. "I was in a board meeting."

"Patients come first, right?"

"Wouldn't want to prescribe a lozenge if there was any doubt about its efficacy, huh?"

"You once asked why I think I'm always right, and I realized that you're right… at least, I think you're right. I don't really know now, do I?"

Cuddy smiles.

"Hey!" The patient calls out for attention. "I'm here."

"Go home. Drink some hot tea." Cuddy then leaves immediately.

"Excellent counsel."

The patient leaves and House unwillingly welcomes another. Meanwhile, at the lab, Cameron and Foreman are now working together. Chase is in back.

"Negative on parvovirus B19." Cameron holds up another screen.

"I'm impressed."

"Thank you, I was born to run gels." She deadpans.

"I meant about Chase."

"What about Chase?"

"Well, the man has no physical interest in you. He has a completely professional relationship with you, he respects you as a colleague and a doctor, and yet he can't look at you without thinking sex. You now have total control over your relationship with him."

"So, you can't express an interest in sex without it being some professional powerplay?"

"No." House's voice causes her to jump as he'd walked in to the lab, unbeknownst to the other doctors. "If you look the way you do, and you say what you said, you have to be aware of the effect that it'll have on men. And some women."

Cameron ignores the last statement. "Men should grow up."

"Yeah. And dogs should stop licking themselves, it's not gonna happen."

Cameron giggles at the statement and Chase comes in.

"What's going on?"

Cameron abruptly stops laughing upon realization. She turns to House.

"Yeah, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you guys."

"Why didn't you page us?" Foreman shrugs.

"'Cause I knew you'd be here."

Chase narrows his eyes, though not toward House. "Who told him?"

"No one." House answers for the crowd. "I assume you're trying to prove my crazy two-illness theory wrong, so, obviously, you're going to be in the lab. You spin the urine?" He questions as he pops a Vicodin.

Foreman sighs. "Not yet."

"Talk to me when you have."

A few hours later, House is playing with his oversized tennis ball behind his desk. Wilson is lounging in the chair in front of it. Due to comments from earlier, their lighthearted discussion has turned toward the mention of sex. More importantly, how long it's been since either of them have had sex. It's apparently been over a year for House, and nine months for Wilson.

"You and Julie?" House questions lightly.

Wilson shakes his head, obviously not wanting to go down that road. Wilson and Julie have been engaged for over two years now. Julie keeps pushing the wedding date back. House honestly doesn't see why Wilson doesn't just dump her. Luckily for Wilson, Foreman chooses this moment to walk in unannounced.

"What did you find out?" House questions easily.

"The kidney failure. It's acute interstitial nephritis." Foreman shrugs, taking in House's easygoing manner on it.

"I wonder if that's significant." House responds sarcastically, smirking toward Wilson.

"It means the antibiotics didn't cause the kidney failure." Foreman raises an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

House sounds affronted. "Well, if you guys hadn't been so busy trying to prove me wrong, you might have checked in on the poor kid."

Both eyebrows shoot up this time. "You visited a patient?"

He smiles arrogantly. "I was sitting by his bed all morning, just so he'd know someone was there for him."

Wilson sighs, butting into the conversation. "I looked in on him. He's much better."

House nods and the conceited smile remains on his face as he replies to his underling.

"Ergo, the treatment's working. Ergo, me right, you wrong."

"Hey, I'm glad for the kid." Foreman scoffs and leaves the office.

As the door closes, Wilson smiles at House. "That smugness of yours really is an attractive quality."

House genuinely smiles back, though his voice still holds the sarcasm. "Thank you. It was either that or get my hair highlighted. Smugness is easier to maintain."

Wilson rolls his eyes but can't hold back a bit of a laugh. "I get that you're not a big believer in the 'catching flies with honey' approach, but do you honestly think you'll collect a jarful by cleverly taunting them?" 

House shakes his head. "Flies, no. Doctors, sure. If I'd said to Foreman, "Nice try, it was a great guess, but not this time," what do you think he'd be doing right now?"

"I think he'd be going home not feeling like a piece of crap."

"Exactly."

Wilson is shocked. "You _want_ him to feel like a piece of crap?"

"No, I don't want him going home."

Wilson gives up and heads back to his office, while House moves on to the clinic to knock out a few more hours. Foreman, on the other hand, leaves toward Brandon's room. When he enters, Brandon addresses him before turning into a hacking fit.

Foreman frowns. "You still have the cough."

"I'm feeling a lot better, though."

"His fever's gone, and his rash is going away." Mrs. Merrell smiles.

"I see."

"Is everything okay?" She sounds worried.

"Just ordering some tests. Absolutely nothing to worry about."

As Foreman orders the tests, House is in a clinic exam room. He's helped two patients, and now he's simply playing again on his Gameboy.

A woman slightly older than House is sat on the cot, wondering how long she's got to stay.

"How much longer?"

"9:30, I figure she was on the 8th hole when I paged her…" House grimaces as his guy dies, and then hands her the Gameboy. "Probably got another half hour."

She goes with it and begins playing the video game. She doesn't look up when Foreman enters.

"I ran a TSH, T3 and T4. Patient's negative for hypothyroidism."

She stops playing and looks up to him. He shakes his head, though. 

"Not talking about you."

She takes it and returns to the game. House and Foreman proceed to go over the case while his clinic patient is distracted. 

"Well the fact that he's getting better would indicate the unreliability of the tests."

"If I'm right and it's a viral infection, one of two things always happens: patient dies or the patient's immune system fights off the invader." Foreman skeptically nods toward the patient in the room. "What's with her?"

"Her leg hurts after running six miles. Who knows, it could be anything!"

Foreman simply shakes his head but says nothing. "He's getting better. That doesn't prove you're right, it just proves he's getting better."

House smiles, but Foreman presses on. "It, it's not two illnesses! It can't be two illnesses!"

"I am so glad you work here."

"If I'm right, the antibiotics you prescribed could block his kidneys and liver, impeding his ability to fight off the virus. Could kill him."

"Well, that certainly would be a concern. Fifty bucks?" The woman looks up, overhearing about the betting. House shakes his head. "Don't look away, the space monkeys will be all over you."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You wanna bet on the patient's _health_?"

"You think that's bad luck? Do you think that God will smite him because of our insensitivity? Well, if God does, you make a quick fifty." House's clinic patient kills the little guy on the Gameboy. Upon recognizing the noise, House snatches the gaming system for his turn.

"Go check his white blood count. If he's fighting off a virus like you think it'll be way up."

He starts to play on the Gameboy again as Foreman leaves. Very shortly after, Wilson enters. House looks up momentarily.

"Hey, Cuddy said you needed a consult, what's up? I'm busy."

"Of course she did." House smirks. "Her leg hurts after running six miles. Who knows, it could be anything!"

"Are you the doctor to help?" She questions.

Wilson's eye dart, from the woman asking an innocently ignorant question, to House smiling smugly to his best friend. The guy on the video game dies and House wordlessly hands the system ver to the woman for her turn. While Wilson deals with them, Chase and Cameron are in the conference area of Houses office. Cameron is watching Chase make some coffee, and Chase stares back – spilling the coffee he'd been pouring. When he screams out, Cameron makes her move and walks into his personal space.

"I was just being glib."

"You haven't said anything."

"No, before when we were talking about Brandon's girlfriend thinking sex could kill you. It was just a joke."

"Oh, I don't even remember what was said."

"I'm uncomfortable about sex." She states and Chase turns quickly.

"Well, we don't have to talk about this…"

"Sex… could kill you. Do you know what the human body goes through when you have sex? Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets…" As she talks, Chase is starting to look uncomfortable. "… respiration becomes rapid and shallow, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere and secretions spit out of every gland…" Chase is now looking for an escape route. "… and the muscles tense and spasm like you're lifting three times your body weight. It's violent, it's ugly, and it's messy, and if God hadn't made it unbelievably fun… the human race would have died out eons ago." She pauses for a short moment before continuing. "Men are lucky they can only have one orgasm. You know that women can have an hour-long orgasm?" Chase is very wide-eyed; Foreman walks in and Cameron's voice takes on her average cheery tone. "Hey, Foreman. What's up?"

"Hey, Foreman!" Chase squeaks.

"Hey." He responds, staring at the two with mild curiosity. House walks in.

"White cell count isn't up, is it?"

"No." Foreman frowns. "We were both wrong. White cell count is down, way down, and dropping. His immune system is shot. We need to get him into a clean room."

Half an hour later, Chase had been assigned to prep Brandon for the clean room. He does so extremely hesitantly.

"Can you walk, Brandon?"

"Yeah, a little."

"All right, okay. 'Cause we'll need to leave the chair outside."

He turns to the nurse helping him. "Thank you. Where's April? April!" The woman in question comes in. "Can you take the chair, please?"

She does so and Chase turns to face Brandon. "I'll need to take your mask and your robe, too. You might want to block your ears for this, it's quite loud."

They're blasted with air as they enter the clean room. Cameron, Foreman, the Merrells and Mindy are watching Chase and Brandon from outside the clean room.

"Something's made his immune system compromised." Foreman explains.

"His white blood cell count is down, which means his body can't fight off infections."

"If he gets sick, he'll die."

"Sick." Mrs. Merrell repeats. "How sick?"

"If he gets a cold, he'll die."

A half hour later, Brandon is coughing. Foreman is prepping him for a marrow sample.

"Okay. I'm going to push the needle into your hipbone, and take some of the marrow." He inserts a needle.

"That's not so bad."

"Hah, that was just the anesthetic. The core biopsy needle, it's a little bit bigger. Okay man, take a deep breath, this is, this is gonna hurt. A lot." Brandon seizes the bed and grimaces in pain as Foreman explains what's happening. "Marrow makes the blood cells. You take a peek of it under a microscope, and maybe we find a viral infection. Maybe we find some fibrosis. Something to explain why your blood count is so low." He fills the syringe with marrow. "There we go. One step closer to an answer."

Brandon looks up to him, energy depleting. "What if you don't find one? I can't stay here forever." 

Over in Cuddy's office, she and House are arguing.

"The patient could have died."

"The one with the pulled muscle."

"Well, those symptoms are consistent with a dozen other conditions. I, you know, I, I'm entitled to a consult!"

"You are not getting out of clinic duty."

"Oh, come on. You've got a hundred other idiot doctors in this building who go warm and fuzzy every time they pull a toy car out of a nose, you don't need me here."

"No, I don't, but working with people actually makes you a better doctor."

"When did I sign up for that course?"

"When did I give you the impression that I care?"

"Working in this clinic obviously instills a deep sense of compassion." He starts to walk out. "I've got your home number, right? In case anything comes up at 3 o'clock in the morning."

"It's not going to work. You know why? Because this is fun. You think of something to make me miserable, I think of something to make you miserable: it's a game! And I'm going to win, because I got a head start. You are already miserable."

Cuddy leaves her office, with House standing still in disbelief, and she runs into Wilson.

"Uh…"

"Is this important?" She snaps.

"Uh, no."

"No." She storms off, just as House exits her office.

"What's with you and her?"

"Don't." He bares down on his cane.

Most people would change the subject at House's tone, but Wilson wants to know the truth. He catches up to House as he heads toward the clinic. "Do you have a thing for her? The only people who can get to you –"

"No!" He shouts. "There is not a thin line between love and hate. There is, in fact, a Great Wall of China with armed sentries posted every twenty feet between love and hate." Rather than make it to the clinic, they've come to the pharmacist. "36 Vicodin." 

"Who's the patient?"

"I am."

"You can't…"

House cuts him off. "Dr. Wilson is the prescribing physician."

"Yeah." Wilson waves to the pharmacist and then turns back to House. "You will lie, cheat and steal to get what you want, but you're incapable of kissing a little ass?"

"Well, we all have our limitations." He grabs a bottle from the counter and turns to leave.

"House! Wrong bottle." He gives House the right bottle. "Do me a favor. Take one of these, wait five minutes for it to kick in, and find Cuddy, and kiss her ass."

"What was the kid's first symptom?" After a small pause, he elaborates. "You did the history; of his 800 symptoms, which one hit him first?"

"Ah, the cough."

Another half hour later, House is thinking in his office, staring at the white board. He starts looking through medical texts and searching online; while Chase watches him through the glass wall. Brandon is still coughing in his room. The ducklings are sat at the desk when House finally walks in. He walks up behind them and speaks one word.

"Gout."

With that, he retreats to his office; only for the others to curiously follow. Chase speaks first.

"Um, are we talking about Brandon?"

"Gout?" Foreman repeats. "Uric acid crystals in the joints? The symptoms are pain, swelling, redness, stiffness… not one of which do I see on that board."

House sighs. "Because he doesn't have gout. Every day, cells die. We survive because the remaining cells divide and replace the losses. The colchicine, a gout medicine, blocks mitosis and stops cell division, which will result in abdominal pain, rash, nausea, fever, kidney failure, low blood pressure, and will also mess with the bone marrow." He crosses these all off the board. 

Chase frowns. "But he doesn't have gout. Why would he have gout medication?"

"Because you guys were right. He didn't have two conditions at the exact same time. First, he got a cough. Now, because he's an idiot, he went to a doctor. In order to feel justified charging two hundred dollars, the doctor felt he should actually do something. Oops. He wrote a prescription. Seven thousand people die each year from pharmacy screw-ups. Not nearly as many as die from doctor screw-ups, but still, not something they use in their promotional material. The pharmacist gave him gout medicine instead of cough medicine. And the only thing it wouldn't do: it would do absolutely nothing to relieve his cough. Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation is almost always somebody screwed up."

Cameron doesn't see it. "But once he checked into this hospital he was completely in our control. Our food, our pills, our everything. So even if you're right, no gout medication. He'd either continue to deteriorate or he would have gotten better. But he got better, and then he got worse. It doesn't fit. It doesn't make sense."

House runs his hand over his face. "Okay. Two people screwed up. Not as simple as one, but…"

Mindy and the Merrells are sitting in the waiting room when House and company stroll up.

"He's resting; he –" Mindy starts.

" I'm Dr. House. I'm your son's physician."

Mrs. Merrell stands. "Oh, you're the one we haven't met yet."

Mr. Merrell stands next to her. "You're the one he hasn't met. How can you treat someone without meeting them?"

House answers honestly. "It's easy if you don't give a crap about them. That's a good thing. If emotions made you act rationally, then they wouldn't be called emotions, would they? That's why we have this nice division of labor: you hold his hand, I get him better. If I start tucking him in at night, well, that's not fair to you guys, and if you start prescribing medicine, that's not fair to me. So what I want to know is: who stepped on my side of the med? Who cared enough to get stupid enough to give him his cough medicine?"

Mindy tries to diffuse the situation. "When we checked in Dr. Foreman said –"

House cuts her off. "Tuesday, he's getting better. Wednesday, he's getting sick again. Somebody gave him his cough medicine Wednesday." He pauses. "Come on, nobody's gonna be mad. I just want to know who tried to kill the kid."

Foreman winces slightly. "Dr. House, maybe we should –"

Mrs. Merrell sounds worried. "His throat was sore."

House presses the bridge of his nose. "Page Dr. Occam. He's gonna want to hear about this."

"Sorry!" She exclaims. "He was coughing, and I just wanted to help him –"

"Where are the pills?" House demands.

"He took the last of them before he was switched into that room."

"They're all gone?" Cameron questions her.

"It was just cough medicine!" She cries.

"No, it wasn't." House argues. "Where's the bottle?"

She digs in her purse and hands it over. Chase, Mindy and Mrs. Merrell go to talk to the pharmacist. The girls wait outside while Chase heads to the back.

"We need to know exactly what you put in this bottle. We think it was colchicine, a gout medication."

The pharmacist throws his hands up. "If the prescription said cough medicine, that's what I dispensed."

" The family is prepared to waive liability, all right? We just need to know what it was, what dosage it was –"

The pharmacist glares at the teen. "It was cough medicine."

Chase doesn't listen and gives him the bottle. "Refill it."

Outside the pharmacy area, Mrs. Merrell is trying to console herself, as well as Mindy.

"He's going to be okay."

"You don't know that."

"Does Brandon like that quality in you? You're a little negative."

"Things don't always work out for the best."

"It doesn't hurt to hope they do." Mrs. Merrell sighs.

"No. Not unless it makes you figure you can do whatever you want, like give people cough medicine." Chase and the pharmacist come out from the back. 

"This is cough medication. This is what Brandon was supposed to get." Chase shakes out three onto his hand. "They're small, round and yellow. Can you tell this man what the pills in your son's medicine bottle actually looked like?"

"They were small, round and yellow, exactly like this."

"Those were the pills that Brandon was taking." Mindy agrees. 

"Hey, I'm just a pharmacist, but I know what cough medicine looks like, Doctor." 

Back in House's office, he and Wilson are maneuvering through all the possibilities.

"It was so perfect. It was beautiful." House bites his lip. 

"Beauty often seduces us on the road to truth."

"And triteness kicks us in the nads."

"So true." Wilson sighs.

House looks surprised. "This doesn't bother you?"

"That you were wrong? I try to work through the pain –"

"I was not wrong. Everything I said was true. It fit. It was elegant."

"So… reality was wrong."

"Reality is almost always wrong." He pops two Vicodin in his mouth. "The cough medicine did something. Aggravated the condition. It's all over the place, must be in his blood." 

"What if it is his blood?" Wilson wisely decides not to comment on the pills.

"Lymphoma?"

"Unless you've got something better." 

"Well, we foolishly ruled out lymphoma because his CT scan showed no adenophathy, CBC showed a normal diffen smear, bone marrow showed no –"

Wilson waves a hand. "Screw the tests. Do an exploratory laparotomy and find out what's in there."

"He has no blood pressure, no immune system and no kidneys. Surgery will kill him."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's stick with the wrong pill theory."

House stares at his friend. "I'll schedule him for surgery."

In Brandon's clean room, Mindy and the Merrells are watching from a distance as the three doctors are working on Brandon.

"Okay, Brandon, we're gonna run this tube through your heart and into the pulmonary arteries in your lung." Foreman holds said tube. 

"Sensors will give us information we need for the exploratory surgery later this afternoon." Cameron adds.

"My fingers are numb." Brandon comments.

"Try not to move." Foreman instructs. "We're in the right atrium, trying to catch the flow through the tricuspid valve."

Chase is at his side. "I think the catheter's curling in the atrium."

"Got it. We're in the RV now." He stops when a monitor beeps.

"Ectopy. You must have irritated the heart wall."

"It'll calm down."

"He can't tolerate any cardiac arrhythmia. Pull back."

"He needs this surgery." Another monitor beeps.

"Pressure's dropped." Cameron sounds worried.

"You still with us, Brandon?" Chase questions.

"Get the curtains!" Cameron calls.

Chase closes them as they prepare the defibrillator. Chase is given the set and goes to work.

"Charging. Clear!" He shocks the other teen and checks a monitor. "Sign of rhythm."

"I got a pulse." Cameron announces.

Foreman sighs. "Yeah, but no surgery today." 

House is back in the clinic. His next patient is a punk kid about the same age as Wilson.

"How you doing?"

"Okay." The slightly younger teen shrugs.

"Great. I'm doing good, too. I get to knock off an hour early today. Know why? 'Cause I kissed my boss' ass, you ever do that? I think she just said yes because she wants to reinforce that behavior. Wants me to kiss a lot of other people's ass, like she wants me to kiss yours." The teen makes an odd face toward House, and the older teen continues. "What would you want, a doctor who holds your hand while you die, or a doctor who ignores you while you get better? I guess it would particularly suck to have a doctor who ignores you while you die."

"I should go…" The kid slowly makes his way toward the door. 

"You think it's going to come out on its own? Are we talking bigger than a breadbasket? 'Cause actually, it will come out on its own, which for small stuff is no problem. Gets wrapped up in a nice soft package and plop! Big stuff, you're going to rip something, which speaking medically, is when the fun stops." 

The kid quirks a brow. "How did you –"

House shrugs. "You've been here half an hour and haven't sat down, that tells me its location. You haven't told me what it is, that tells me it's humiliating. You have a little birdie carved on your arm, that tells me you have a high tolerance for humiliation, so I figure it's not hemorrhoids." He pauses to some extent. "I've been a doctor quite a few years, you're not going to surprise me." 

"It's an MP3 player."

He's silent a few minutes to digest the information. Finally, House exhales. "Is it… is it because of the size, or the shape, or the pounding bass line? 

The kid is worried. "What are we going to do?"

House looks at his watch and has never been more grateful. "I'm gonna wait."

"For what?"

Instead of answering, House quickly gathers himself and walks out of the room. He hands the file to a nurse at the main desk. "Okay, it's 3:00, I'm off. Would you tell Dr. Cuddy there's a patient in Exam Room 2 that needs her attention? And the RIAA wants her to check for illegal downloads."

He signs out, laughing at his small inside joke. Before he can get very far though, Cameron runs up to him.

"Brandon's not ready for surgery."

"Okay, well, let's leave it a couple of weeks. He should be feeling better by then. Oh wait, which way does time go?"

"He crashed during prep. He's also experiencing pain in his fingers. I think some bug may have gotten in the clean room. I think we should double his dosage of GCSF to temporarily boost his blood cell count."

"Pain in his fingers… right."

House pops a Vicodin and then reluctantly follows Cameron to the clean room. Brandon's parents are in the hallway just outside.

"Hi again." House mutters as he enters the prep room without the necessary robes or ventilation. He marches up to Brandon despite the Merrells shouting at him. "Hey! How y'all doing? Interesting fact: every seven years it's a whole new you. Inspiring metaphor, huh?"

Chase looks up alarmed. "Dr. House, this is a clean room." 

"Yeah, I read the sign. But cells of different organs reproduce at different rates." He touches Brandon's leg as he speaks. Brandon flinches and makes noises of protest. "So, a new kidney every three years, a new stomach lining every week…. This is why colchicine poisoning causes all of these symptoms but not all at once."

"But we went to the pharmacy." Mrs. Merrell calls from outside, through the speaker. "We saw the pills!" 

"Colchicine does its damage in a very specific order. First of all, there's a pain in the abdomen, the rash, the fever… isn't that what you got first? Then, the kidneys go, which is exactly what happened to…." 

"Brandon." Cameron gasps. 

House nods. "Right. Then it screws up your bone marrow, and then – neuropathy. Painful tingling in the fingers and toes. And what do you suppose happens after that?" He rips out some of Brandon's hair. His mother doesn't look too thrilled. "Hair loss. The bad new is: your special boy is doing drugs."

Mrs. Merrell protests. "No, he's not!"

"Ecstasy?" House pointedly ignores her.

"No1"

Brandon swallows, admitting his shame. "Twice, with Dan and Mike." 

"D'you know what they cut that stuff with? Apparently colchicine, unless you ingested the colchicine through your contact lens solution, or skin cream, or some other drug you're lying about. I don't know how it happened, I don't care how it happened, it happened. Start…."

"Brandon." Cameron supplies again.

"Lovely name. Start Brandon on fab fragments, and give him some Tylenol for the hair I pulled out. And get some air in here!" He leaves the room and walks off with Wilson. "Make a note: I should never doubt myself."

Wilson smirks. "I think you'll remember. You know, it wouldn't hurt you to be wrong now and then."

"What, you don't care about these people?"

As House and Wilson walk to the pharmacy, the ducklings remain in the clean room. Foreman inserts an IV. The other two watch the monitor for distress.

" The colchicine interferes with the ability of the heart muscle to contract pumping blood, lowering your blood pressure." Foreman is explaining. "The antibodies we're giving you should neutralize the colchicine, allowing your heart to beat at its normal rate."

"When will you know?"

Cameron smiles at him. "We know now.

Foreman gives the people outside a thumbs-up. Mrs. Merrell hugs her husband, and then hugs Mindy. At the pharmacy, House begins pawing through the medicines. The pharmacist is nowhere in sight. 

"Big weekend?" Wilson questions. 

"It's not for me, I'm fully stocked."

"Cuddy got you doing inventory?"

"Nope. Trying to solve that kid's case."

Wilson blinks. "The gout medicine OD?"

"Yeah."

"The fact that I know that it's a gout medicine OD would seem to indicate that the case is already solved."

"Well, you'd be wrong." 

"What about the fact that the kid is now, I believe the technical term is, not sick?"

"You know how many forms of colchicine there are on the market?"

"Stop it." Wilson groans, slightly worried about his friend.

House seems to not have heard him. "Neither do I, but it's a lot. Pills, powders, liquids, IV fluids…. Somewhere at a party, in his coffee, up his nose, in his ear, this kid had some."

Wilson sighs again. "So, you're not happy with your Ecstasy theory?"

"He said he used it twice."

"People lie."

"Yeah, but if you're gonna lie, it's –"

"You know what," Wilson cuts him off. "I'm not interested."

"Not curious?"

"No, because I'm well-adjusted."

He walks off to his office to pack up. House acknowledges his leave but says nothing of it. Meanwhile, Cameron and Chase check up on Brandon.

"Temperature's normal." Cameron smiles.

"I want Cousin Sharon there." Brandon grins.

"If we invite Sharon, we have to invite all the cousins."

"So what?" Mindy asks. "My side of the family doesn't need anything."

Brandon starts coughing, though not near as bad as he has been. "Don't suppose I could have some of those cough pills, huh? They're okay, right?" 

"Yes, you're doing great." Cameron informs him.

Chase grins then. "You should invite Dr. House."

"Will he come?"

"No, but he'll send a gift."

"I'll make sure it's a good one." Cameron adds, handing Brandon the cough pills.

"There's a letter on the back of these pills." He notices.

"Your old pills didn't have a letter on them?"

"No. Round and yellow, but no letter."

"Well, these will help your cough."

She starts to leave when Chase speaks up. "Hey, you want to go get some –"

"No."

"She's interested." Brandon nudges Chase's arm as Cameron leaves. "Hey, you're in my seminary class, aren't you?" 

"Yeah."

Back in the pharmacy, it looks like a disaster area. House is propped up against a cabinet as he analyses two sets of pills. He has found the colchicines, and he compares them to the cough medicine: small, round and yellow, but minus the letter. 

**How's that for chapter three? It's December now; getting close to House's birthday and Christmas… what comes next?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome, faithful viewers, to 1.04 – Maternity. I'm having fun writing this, despite it being mostly canon and simply** _ **along with**_ **the show. I'm trying to make it so it seems like their new ages, but still going through medical school. I'm glad to see so many people from all over are reading this. This is early, as it is the anniversary of 9/11.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

"MRI results are back." A dramatic doctor walks into an unidentifiable hospital room.

"And?" The patient asks.

"It's what we expected. The accident caused serious damage."

Beyond the hospital room is a small screen on a small radio. A teenaged doctor, who walks to a chair and opens a cup of jello, carries the radio.

"It's amnesia." The doctor exclaims along with the on-screen doctor.

"I'm sorry."

"I just can't believe it."

Two nurses from the surgical delivering wing, Lim and Dr. Kubisak, walk into the sitting room, talking. The two are roughly the same age, in their mid-twenties.

"Enjoying our lounge, House?" Lim questions off-handedly as Dr. Kubisak moves over to the mini fridge.

"I just came in to get milk for my coffee, which you're out of."

"Flat or sparkling?"

"Flat." House mutters as Lim speaks simultaneously, "Sparkling."

Kubisak throws a bottle to Lim.

"So, the Hartigs?" Kubisak goads his friend.

"Their baby gets a fever."

"Wait, don't tell me. Their kid had a seizure."

"Yep. The parents, of course, start freaking and I have to deal with that for an hour."

"Like it was your fault."

"She was perfect when I delivered her. If you want to blame someone, blame the pediatrician."

"So, how's the kid now?"

"Bowel obstruction, she's under observation, she'll be fine."

"Pediatrician'll take all the credit."

House exits suddenly, leaving his radio and most of his jello behind. He heads directly for pediatrics, paging Wilson to come down immediately. Of course, the younger teen does so. Without moving so much as graces, House delves directly into differentials.

"Exhibit A: Baby girl Hartig. Term baby, 42 hours old. Went into seizures 6 hours ago, brought into the intensive care, diagnosed with obstruction of the small bowel." He looks at Wilson apprehensively.

"I'm still amazed you're in the same room with a patient."

"People don't bug me until they get teeth." He pauses before continuing. "Exhibit B: Baby boy Hausen. Another term baby, 48 hours old. Brought into the NICU before the Hartig baby: fever of unknown origin, 101 degrees, trending upwards."

"Wow, that is amazing. You hung out in the OB/GYN lounge and heard about two sick babies. It's eerie." He makes a move to touch a baby bed.

"Don't touch that." House snaps.

Wilson freezes, speaking slowly and confusedly. "All right…"

"We have an infection spreading in the hospital."

Wilson is absolutely skeptical about this leap. "These kids have totally unrelated illnesses."

"They fell sick within four hours of each other. They had the same delivery rooms, maternity rooms are neighboring, so transmission's possible. They have the same symptoms."

"The Hartig girl has a bowel obstruction. No matter how close their beds are, I'm pretty sure kids can't share a blockage."

"What does bowel obstruction on a chart indicate?"

"Well, normally, I'd say it indicates a patient's bowel is obstructed, but I'm pretty sure you have some deeper truth to impart –"

"It means that some random doctor of indeterminate skill thinks that the patient's bowel is obstructed."

Wilson tries not to laugh. "Okay, you're upset because they threw you out of their lounge."

House is determined. "Look at the x-ray. It's a normal gas pattern."

"You want, I can get you a key to the oncology lounge."

House ignores him. "Air. Air in the colon."

"We're getting TiVo."

"If it's air, no bowel obstruction."

Wilson runs a hand over his face. "Even if it is air, it could have been there before the obstruction."

"No. Something's infected both these infants." He turns to face Wilson. "If you're going to be an ass over this, I'm talking with Cuddy."

Wilson only sighs again, and House swivels in step. He marches into Cuddy's office, revealing all he's pieced together. When he's finished, Cuddy is staring up at him incredulously.

"And you're the only one who put this together because…?"

"Because I'm the only one who looked at both kids. I want them isolated; I want the maternity ward shut down."

"Because you're better at reading an x-ray than a radiologist."

"Radiologists always over-read babies' x-rays, especially if they're asked to rule out a pathology. He read into it what he wanted."

"Which is exactly what you're doing. You're finding a cluster because you think it's interesting to find a cluster. Two… plain old sick babies would bore you."

House sneers. "See, this is why I don't waste money on shrinks, 'cause you give me all these really great insights for free."

Cuddy smiles. "Shrink. If you would consider going to a shrink, I would pay for it myself. The hospital would hold a bake sale, for God's sake."

House is enraged at how nonchalant Cuddy is behaving. "We have an epidemic!"

Cuddy stops from going out the door and turns to House. Slowly, she speaks in a consoling voice. "Two sick babies is very sad, but it doesn't prove an epidemic."

She leaves. House is left alone in her office, asking no one "How many do?"

Gathering his bearings, House marches into the diagnostic lounge. Foreman is reading a book, Cameron is working on homework, and Chase is sleeping in a chair. House throws a big red book in Chase's lap, startling him awake – and causing the other two to look in his direction.

"Get up! We're going hunting."

"For what?" Foreman asks, already on his feet.

"Wabbits."

In some random maternity room, a mother and father are resting. Their newborn baby at the foot of the bed. House and Foreman enter the room; House picks up the baby, who starts to cry. This wakes the parents, but House doesn't really care.

"Hi." He pauses to gage the baby. "Bye." He then passes the baby to Foreman, and limps out of the room.

Foreman winces a little at their stares, but he places their baby down, reporting the findings. "He's screaming, he's fine." Fully aware of the awkward situation, he smiles just as uncomfortably. "Good-looking baby."

In a delivery room, a birth is in process. The expectant dad is filming as Chase and Cameron stride in.

"Oh, sorry, wrong room." Cameron squeals.

Chase give an ill at ease half-wave. "We'll see you later."

Out in the hall, Cameron matches a gaze directed for Chase. "Twelve rooms, that's it?"

"Yep." Chase agrees. "We've definitely checked the whole floor." The duo meets up with House and Foreman by the elevator. "Good news, no epidemic."

Foreman glances to House. "Tragic, huh?"

House looks at elevator as it slowly arrives to their level. "Overflow rooms, third floor." He steps inside.

Foreman exchanges looks with Cameron and Chase. "This imaginary infection has spread to the next floor?"

Upstairs, mothers Kim Chen and Judy Lupino look worried. House enters the room, and Judy immediately rises, holding the infant.

"We were just going to call."

"Did he get hot all of a sudden?"

"Yeah."

House places the child into the bed onto the cart, instructing the women to follow. He pages the maternity ward and Cuddy, informing them of the infantile epidemic. Babies are soon being brought into NICU. Cuddy is standing in the hallway just outside, but she turns toward a set of voices near the elevator.

"Don't worry, we're almost there." A man appears, coaxing his very pregnant wife in a wheelchair.

"Excuse me!" Cuddy gains their attention. "Hi. Intake sent you up here?"

"Yeah, my wife's contractions are less than –"

"Yeah, Intake messed up." Cuddy cuts him off. "I'm very, very sorry. Nurse Alpret will arrange for an ambulance to take you to Princeton General." She immediately starts to wheel the pregnant woman back to the elevator.

"Wha –"

"The maternity ward is temporarily closed."

"We have to leave?!" The woman is alarmed.

"Yes, I am very sorry." The elevator opens, and House comes out.

"Why are you doing this?" The man questions as his wife groans.

"You'll be there very, very soon." The elevator door closes, and Cuddy stands next to House. "Happy now?"

"No." He answers seriously. "But I am interested."

They stand there watching another baby being brought in, and House starts walking to his office. Cuddy joins him. The ducklings are already there, stressing a little. House ignored their strange, somewhat sympathetic looks, and brings his whiteboard out.

"Three sick babies, and a fourth showing early symptoms."

"How bad?" Cuddy asks, knowing the ducklings have checked all the vitals.

Chase groans. "Spiking fevers."

"BP's plummeting." Foreman bites his lip. "They're barely able to keep systolic up; at this rate, they'll be dead in a day."

"Where did this come from?" Cuddy's voice is stressed.

Cameron's voice is sad. "Two delivery rooms, four different maternity rooms, no common personnel and no common equipment."

"Well, there's gotta be something in common."

"Yeah." House moans. "That would be the difference between an epidemic and a coincidence."

"I'm putting a team together." Cuddy announces, finishing her thought as she walks out the door. "We're going to start swabbing."

"What's she gonna swab?" Foreman asks the room. "Every respirator, sink, vent, drain in the entire hospital? That'll take months."

"A needle in a haystack." Cameron agrees.

"It's worse than that." House starts erasing the whiteboard. "We don't even know what the needle we're looking for is."

"Then why'd you let her go do it?"

"Because the hospital's her baby, and her baby's sick. If she doesn't solve this soon, her head's going to explode, and I don't want to get any on me." Chase and Cameron snicker softly at the comment. "So let's figure out what's in the haystack. Differential diagnosis, people."

"Parasite." Foreman offers.

Cameron shakes her head. "Spreading too quickly." House writes "parasite" on the board and crosses it off.

"Next?"

"Virus?" Chase tries and House writes "virus".

Cameron shakes her head again. "Kids are too sick, and the blood tests show no lymphocytosis."

"And they're not responding to a cycle of avirarapovirin." Foreman includes. "If it's some other virus, we'll never find it in time, anyway." House writes a question mark next to "virus".

"Which leads us to bacterial infection." He also writes this on the board. "It's not responding to broad-spectrum antibiotics, so we've got something resistant. The usual suspects."

"MRSA." Foreman throws up his hands. "It's always MRSA in hospitals."

Cameron considers the idea. "Maybe a contaminated food or water source? Pseudomonas."

Chase tries again. "VRE?"

"H-Flu." House writes down all the suggestions.

"Okay, those are the big ones. Cultures will take 48 hours, might as well be post-mortem. We'll start them on Vancomycin for the MRSA and Aztreonam for the rest. Let's get MRIs, check for abscesses or some occult infection. I'll be in the clinic. Grab me if you find something important. Or unimportant."

In a hallway, a nurse is wheeling a sick baby. The Hartigs look on as their baby is taken to the MRI room where Chase and Cameron wait. The baby is hooked up and placed into the machine. They continue this method with the other sick babies, watching all the results. Afterwards, the two need to start talking to the parents. Cameron takes on Kim and Judy.

"We did a MRI on all the babies, and unfortunately, we didn't find anything, so we're starting him on the strongest antibiotics we've got, and we're hoping that that'll take care of it."

Judy gasps. "But he's so tiny."

Kim moves onto the question. "How sick is he?"

Cameron pauses. "His fever's up to 103.5 and his blood pressures 80 over 40."

Judy takes up the questioning. "Um, how bad is that?"

Cameron freezes up, and Foreman appears behind her. He answers for his co-worker. "It, it's low. The heart needs to circulate the blood. If it's weak, oxygen isn't getting to the liver, the kidneys, the brain."

Kim nods sadly. Judy speaks up. "Um, I have to ask you something."

"Judy –" Kim gasps.

"No, no, Kim. Let me. Um, I had a cold last month, and I told the doctors about it, and –"

"Honey, this has nothing to do with you."

"Kim's right." Cameron finds her voice again. "Your son was born healthy. He caught the infection after his birth. There's no reason to think he got it from you."

"But you don't know, I mean – You don't know how he got sick."

Cameron sighs and looks at Foreman. They share looks with the mothers but say nothing more. In the hallway, Foreman turns to Cameron.

"Pretty standard question: how sick is my child? You couldn't answer it."

"I answered."

"You rattled off numbers! BP, O2 stats.… That's not what they need to know."

"What they need to know is the future. Got a magic 8-ball?" She stops at the registry desk and starts to work on the charts.

"No, just years of medical training. Look, I realize it's tough to break bad news to family –"

"Not as tough as hearing it."

"And I guess being the poor guy dying is toughest of all?"

Cameron pauses. "No. It's easier to die than to watch someone die."

She leaves Foreman standing at the front clinic desk. While this is going on, Cuddy has brought in juniors and seniors from nearby high schools who have an interest in medics. She has them swabbing every aspect of the maternity ward. Wilson checks in on her, wondering what all she's got them doing.

"Well, we're checking the vents, it could be airborne. Somebody get the sinks, too, and underneath them."

A certain student with a tie, appropriately named Tyler, volunteers. "I'll get it."

"How many med students have you got swabbing the decks?"

"Oh, what else are they going to do? It's not like they're delivering babies."

"Find anything yet?"

"Ah, yeah. About half the antibacterial gel dispensers are empty or broken."

"That's bad." He nods. "And diagnostically, completely insignificant."

"Well, if the staff can't wash their hands, it's no wonder an infection has spread." As they talk, Tyler's tie has been hanging in the sink as he scrubs. "Hey, tie clip!"

Tyler looks up. "Sorry?"

"We have an epidemic in this hospital and your tie is becoming a Petri dish. Put on a tie clip or take the damn thing off."

In the clinic, a patient named Jill complains to House.

"My joints have been feeling all loose, and lately I've been feeling sick a lot. Maybe I'm overtraining; I'm doin' the marathon, like, ten miles a day, but I can't seem to lose any weight."

House looks tired. "Lift up your arms." She does so, and he looks her over. "You have a parasite."

"Like a tapeworm or something?"

"Lie back and lift up your sweater." She lies back, but she still has her hands up. "You can put your arms down."

"Can you do anything about it?"

"Only for about a month or so. After that it becomes illegal to remove, except in a couple of states." He responds tiredly as he starts to ultrasound her abdomen.

"Illegal?"

"Don't worry. Many women learn to embrace this parasite. They name it, dress it up in tiny clothes, and arrange playdates with other parasites –"

"Playdates…"

House shows her the ultrasound. "It has your eyes."

"But… that's impossible."

"Well, I assume you weren't getting your period. Maybe that should have given you an inkling."

"But I'm on this birth control implant…"

"Yeah, I know. I saw the scar on your arm."

"…and my doctor said I might not get any periods at all if it was working."

"Mm-hmm. Interestingly enough, you also don't get any periods if it isn't working, which is why you were supposed to get regular pregnancy tests." Jill makes a pained face as he speaks. "I'm going to send a nurse in here to schedule your prenatal care. You're due in about five months, so start planning the shower."

"Um, Doctor? Please. Me and my husband wanted to have a kid soon, but… oh, God. Like four months ago we had this really big fight. He moved out. I did something stupid."

House nods. "One-night stand?"

"Ex-boyfriend."

"I'll schedule you a paternity test, too."

"I can't let my husband know."

"Does the old boyfriend look like your husband?"

Jill thinks a little. "Yeah…"

"Then just have the kid. He'll never know. The most successful marriages are based on lies. You're off to a great start."

He leaves, but Jill looks like she's going to cry. With a bit of a heavy heart, House slinks back to his office. The ducklings are already there, looking positively sleepy and disgruntled.

"Well, you look cheery." He grumbles. "What's going on?"

Cameron breaks first. "The Hartig and Chen-Lupino babies. Their kidneys are shutting down."

Chase moves beside her. "And the urine tests show no casts."

"Which means the antibiotics are causing the kidney failure."

"You're the nephrologist. Which one did it? We'll take 'em off that one. Don't tell me both Vancomycin and Aztreonam can –"

Chase sighs exasperatedly. "They both can cause this. There's no way to know which one it is. No test."

House stares at Chase. Foreman cuts off the thought processes.

"We can't take them off the antibiotics. They'll die of the infection."

Cameron whines, "If we leave them on both the antibiotics they'll die of kidney failure."

"So, we take our best guess, then." Chase yawns. "Which drug's causing the kidney failure?"

"It's like I said: it's always MRSA in hospitals." Foreman's yawn follows. "Take 'em off Aztreonam."

Cameron yawns in succession. "I still think it's the pseudomonas. I vote to take them off the Vancomycin."

After a long silence, House bites back a yawn and nods. "There's no point in guessing. Take one kid off Vancomycin and the other off Aztreonam."

Chase is confused. "They have the same disease, you want to give them different treatment?"

Foreman is enraged. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Therapeutic trial to find the cause of the infection."

"That's wrong."

"We have four sick kids, at least. Who knows how many more haven't started showing symptoms yet?"

Foreman tries not to shout. "We have a duty to these two!"

House snaps back. "If these two have different reactions we know how to save the rest."

"So you're condemning one of these kids to die based on random chance."

After a pregnant pause, House looks over his fellows. "I guess I am."

In NICU, the babies are crying. In Cuddy's office, she, House and a hospital attorney named Alex are arguing over his decision.

"So, you're going to flip a coin? That's how you decide which baby lives?"

House's voice is sarcastic but without the edge. "Can I borrow a quarter?"

Alex sounds pissed. "Do you want to get sued, lose your license, House? Well, generally I'd applaud that, but my job is to protect this hospital, so I strongly advice you to come up with a medical rationale why Baby A should get Medicine X and vice-versa."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, Slick. We didn't all go to law school. Your advice is that I should use medical reasons to make medical decisions? Hmm, that's not going to be as easy…"

"Any medical justification." Alex agrees. "Doesn't need to be a good one."

"Well, Hartig sounds Jewish, so does Aztreonam, so we'll take the Hartig kid off Vancomycin, how's that?"

Cuddy throws her hands on her desk. "You can't experiment on babies."

"Doctors experiment all the time."

"On adults. With their consent."

"Fine. I'll get the parents' consent."

Alex speaks up as he turns to leave. "Their informed consent. They have to know the other kid is getting a different treatment."

"Sorry, can't do that. It'd be unethical for one patient to know about another patient's treatment."

"They have a right to know."

"If they know, they won't consent; that defeats the whole purpose."

"That's their right."

House makes a full one-eighty. "Two more babies have just become symptomatic. I defer to your legal wisdom: which takes precedence? Six dying babies or a missing consent form?"

"You can't do it."

Cuddy sighs; taking in House's appearance and persistence. "Do what you think is best."

House grimaces and leaves. Cuddy looks very unhappy about the whole situation. As House walks to his office, he twirls a coin between his fingers. Finally, he stops at a desk. He spins it and intently watches how it lands. From this, he pages Foreman and Cameron, informing them of what to do. Foreman is with the Hartigs, and Cameron is with the Chen-Lupinos.

"Your daughter's kidneys are shutting down…" Foreman speaks calmly. "…so we're going to take her off the Aztreonam."

"But, uh, but what made her sick in the first place?" Ethan Hartig asks.

"We think it's MRSA. Methicillin-Resistant Staph Aureus. It's a very resistant form of a very common bacteria. Vancomycin is the best treatment for MRSA, so we're gonna keep giving it to her."

"Right. Is it gonna cure her?"

Foreman sucks in a deep breath. "Your child is very sick. You need to know that. This is a 'hail Mary' pass. It might cure her, it might not."

Ethan leans back on the couch, careful to not wake his wife, defeated.

Cameron is taking this very close to heart. "Your son's kidneys are failing. We're taking him off Vancomycin."

"What do you think is causing it?" Kim questions.

"It seems to be a germ called pseudomonas. We're hoping the Aztreonam will clear it up."

"So, so that'll cure him?" Judy asks carefully.

"We'll know in 24 hours if it's working." She speaks with a smile on her face.

Judy and Kim take the smile as a good sign of hope. They look relieved. Cameron walks away from them, over to Wilson at the reception desk. He looks very skeptical and calls her over.

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them the truth."

"They seemed relieved. You tell them how sick their son is?"

"I explained what was going on."

Wilson is mad at this turnout. "Alison, their baby's dying. If the parents weren't in tears when you left, you didn't tell them the truth."

"That's not how I see it." She crosses her arms.

Wilson elevates his voice. "Do you want them blindsided? Want them coming up and saying "My God, my baby died, why didn't you warn me?" Is that what you want?"

"So now it's about worrying about them yelling at us?"

"No, it's about getting them prepared for the likely death of their child."

"If their son dies tomorrow, do you think they'll give a damn of what I said them today? It's not going to matter; they're not going to care; it's not going to be the same ever again. Just give those poor women a few hours of hope."

She walks away from him. Wilson stands there, running a hand over his face. In another area of the hospital, House is leaving his office. He runs into Jill, who is towing her husband behind her.

"Dr. House! Dr. House, this is my husband, Charlie."

He narrows his eyes. "Who told you where my office was?"

"Jill, come on, he obviously doesn't want us bothering him." The man, Charlie, complains. "I'm not even sure he's a real doctor."

House doesn't care about the last remark, so long as he doesn't look like a patient. "Ooh, I was trying to hide it."

Jill pointedly ignores both of them. "Look, Doctor, this is about the mono you said you thought I had…"

"The mono?" He stares back at her.

"Yes. You know, shouldn't Charlie be tested? You know," She keeps it up while House looks at her as though she's insane. "The test. The _blood_ test.

House catches on then. "Right. Yeah, I'm sorry, I sometimes forget patients, I thought you were this idiot who doesn't know how to use birth control." He finishes his statement with a pointed look aimed for Jill.

Charlie misses the exchange. "I can't have mono. I don't even feel sick or anything."

House bypasses them for the elevator. "That's very often the first sign. Call my office in the morning, I'll schedule him for blood tests."

"Thank you!" Jill calls out, but the doors close.

Cuddy is now swabbing medical equipment. Wilson walks up, becoming very aware that she is in desperate need of sleep.

"Find anything yet?"

"No, just some baby formula being stored under a sink with a dripping faucet."

"Tap water contamination. You thinking pseudomonas infection?"

"I was. I wasted a couple of hours chasing it down, but of course the formula hasn't been anywhere near the babies."

"Huh." Wilson doesn't know what else to say.

"Whatever idiot stored them there –"

"All right, we'll figure it out! Just… just calm down."

"I am calm." She snaps.

She then scans the room and notices Tyler slacking off. He's talking with another student, Madeline, and his tie is loose once more. Angry over this, she grabs a nearby pair of scissors and marches directly up to him. She pulls down on his tie and chops it off quickly.

"I warned you." Se turns to face Wilson as she hands over the cut tie. "I did that calmly."

Cuddy and Wilson then leave the scrubbing area for NICU. Karen Hartig is watching through the window and runs over to Chase when he walks out.

"Hey." She catches his arm, speaking softly.

"Hi."

"Is she any better?"

"Her fever's been stable the last hour."

"We're not going to make it, are we?"

"Sorry?" He blinks.

"Me and Ethan." She clarifies. "Our next-door neighbor, their little boy died in a car crash and she and her husband split up, like, four months after the funeral. It's just, uh, what always happens, right?"

The fifteen-year-old doctor-in-training shifts from foot-to-foot. "Um, what happens to patients after they leave the hospital, I don't know, but… try not to get ahead of yourself."

Loud beeping is heard from within NICU. Chase runs back in, confronted by a nurse named Abigail.

"Dr. Chase? Activity on the monitor."

"How long?"

"I don't know; it just started."

"Pulse?"

Nurse Abigail checks for a pulse. It's thready, but it's there. Chase mutters a few things, and then asks for an arterial line. They don't have one yet. The two work on getting a BP when Karen wanders inside.

"You can't come in here."

"Is my baby dying?"

"Mrs. Hartig,"

She cuts him off with a scream. "Is she dying?!"

Nurse Abigail half-pushes the woman out the door. Karen squirms in the other woman's grasp. "Ma'am, you'll have to leave."

As Nurse Abigail succeeds, Chase shouts after the mother. "It's not your baby!"

The nurse and teen doctor then continue working on the BP. It's dropping. Cameron is over as well, checking the heart rate. House walks in, standing next to Wilson.

"They start the levofed?" His voice is calm, but his tone is worried.

Wilson picks up on it. "They've got it."

The two watch from a distance as Kim and Judy come up to the window. House bites his lip.

"Still dropping. Fifty over ten." Chase's voice is rushed.

"Can't hold BP with three pressers?" Cameron's voice is panicked. "We're losing pulse."

"V-fib."

"Shut the blinds." Wilson orders.

Nurse Abigail obliges, and Judy begins to cry. Wilson and Chase move over to prep the defibrillator. Wilson hands the paddles off to the younger teen.

"Charging. Clear." He attempts to shock the infant. It does nothing, as Foreman points out.

"Still v-fib."

"Charging. Clear." Chase delivers another shock. "Charging. Clear." He gives another shock. Nothing changes. Foreman again points out that the child is in v-fib. "Charging. Clear." He delivers another shock. "Charging."

"Chase." House's harsh yet saddened voice breaks through the room. "Time of death: 6:57 PM." After a long pause, he sighs. "The Aztreonam doesn't work. Double-cover all the other babies with Vancomycin."

The room is still in quiet distress when Chase finally speaks. "I'll do it."

House nods. "Cameron, you tell the parents. Tell them their child probably saved five lives."

"But Chase should –"

Letting a little anger seep into his voice, he speaks again. "Chase is busy."

"You're the attending." Cameron tries to worm her way out of it.

Rather than argue, House turns to Wilson, looking at him sharply. "Make sure she does her job."

Wilson knows better than to try and talk House out of this. He motions to Cameron, and the two teens walk up to Kim and Judy. The women look positively horrified, and Cameron freezes up. Wilson takes one look at her and heaves a sigh. He explains to them what's happened. As they sob, he also mentions that their child saved other lives. Wilson and Cameron then leave. Cameron looks back through the window at the crying women. Wilson, on the other hand, meets House at the elevator. It's past midnight; almost one am.

"I asked you to make sure she does her job, not do it for her." House remarks with venom evident in his voice.

"She froze up."

"She felt sorry for the parents so she shut up. You felt sorry for her so you opened your mouth."

"She has a problem." Wilson pouts.

"Yeah, she needs to deal with it. If you hadn't bailed her out, she would have done it."

"Great, then she wouldn't have slept for two weeks. Maybe she should be thinking about a different specialty." Wilson frowns, following House into the elevator as it opens. "Lab work, research?"

Chase dodges inside as the doors close. Wilson simply raises an eyebrow, while House thumps the ground with his cane.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"The Hartig baby. She's getting sicker, too. The Vancomycin isn't working, either."

"Damn it."

House presses the elevator button for his office floor, rather than the lobby button. The three take the trip in silence. House barges into his office with the other two trailing. He immediately walks up to his whiteboard and pulls out a blue marker.

"Vancomycin doesn't kill it. Aztreonam doesn't kill it. What the hell is this?"

Foreman lets a yawn escape. "It's a super bug."

"It could be VRSA." Chase offers up.

"There's only been two reported cases of it ever in the United States." Cuddy remarks from her sullen spot at the table.

"One of the kids, the Hausen baby, had a skin rash." Chase points out. "It could be scalded-skin syndrome which would be a sign of VRSA."

"Then these kids are dead." Foreman finishes flatly.

"This is our fault. Doctors over-prescribing antibiotics." House announces. "Got a cold? Take some penicillin. Sniffles? No problem. Have some azithromycin. Is that not working anymore? Well, got your Levaquin. Antibacterial soaps in every bathroom. We'll be adding Vancomycin to the water supply soon. We bred these super bugs. They're our babies. Now they're all grown up and they've got body piercings and a lot of anger. On the other hand, maybe antibiotics had nothing to do with it. Did you notice how low his BP was at the end? Even with three pressers?"

"Heart damage?" Wilson asks weakly.

At this, House scans the room, taking a close look at everyone. Cuddy looks a bit manic, as though she's been running on coffee just to stay awake for hours. Foreman is blinking, trying to refrain from falling asleep. Cameron has puffy eyes, mixed with sadness and tiredness. Chase looks ten minutes off from Slumberland. Wilson also looks like he could fall over with the slightest push. House feels the pain in his thigh and realizes he hasn't had a Vicodin in a few hours. He knows what he needs to do.

"Go home." House waves to everyone. "There's no more you can do now. Go home and get some sleep. Come back around ten."

Slowly, the teenagers leave the office-conference room. Wilson looks like he wants to say something, but he seems to refrain. Once everyone is out of sight and House hears the distant elevator ding, he shuffles to his desk for a couple Vicodins. He swallows them dryly and then reluctantly heads to the coroner's office. Preparing to complete an autopsy on his lost patient, he speaks into a little microphone.

"Baby boy Chen-Lupino. Time of death 6:57 PM Thursday, December 2nd, 2004."

House sleeps on the couch in Wilson's office afterwards. Nothing feels right to him, and he knows he needs to sleep. He can't bring himself to go home though, so this is where he ends up. He wakes up from the basic leg pain a little after four. He exercises by walking around Wilson's office before heading back to the couch for more sleep. This time, he wakes up a little before eight. Now, he gets up and makes a pot of coffee.

He pours some in his red mug and eats a candy bar from the vending machine in the hall before taking another Vicodin. Wilson catches him, followed by Chase and Foreman. Cameron is next inside, also accepting the surprising generosity of the coffee offer. Cuddy finally arrives in House's office. She accepts a cup as well, and the six simply stay like this for a while. Eventually, House breaks the silence by getting back on track.

"This is a cross-section of the Chen-Lupino boy's myocardium. Fibrosis, lymphocytic infiltrates."

Cameron jumps on board. "There was no sign of lymphocytosis in the blood tests."

"Yes, well, we all had plenty of good reasons to think bacterial. Nobody is scolding you." He hands Cameron his cane as he moves up to the whiteboard. "Unfortunately, all of those clever reasons were wrong. It is a virus infecting their hearts."

Foreman sets down his mug. "We're screwed. We can't chase down a virus; there's a thousand possibilities."

"We could run gels, antibody tests." Cameron looks over to him.

"A thousand of them? The kids don't have enough blood."

House breaks this up. "Chase, you're the intensivist. How many could we do before we risk exsanguinations on the kids?"

"You're talking vials, not stick tests? I wouldn't take more than five or six."

House writes 'Virus' on the board. "Okay, so we have to narrow the thousand viruses down to six. Now, the autopsy's shown us what the virus does. So, let's go. What do we know?"

"Ribavirin and acyclovir don't knock it out." Wilson contributes.

"Cross out the herpes viruses." Cuddy joins the conversation.

"Also adenovirus." House mutters as he starts to make a T-chart on the board. "What else, what else? Keep talking."

"Well, it, it only seems to hit children. The mothers aren't sick, so…" Chase rubs the back of his neck.

Foreman continues. "No toxoplasmosis, no rubella. Cross out the entire TORCH Syndrome."

Wilson glances up. "You didn't find any lung damage?"

"No."

"None of the paramyxoviridae."

House taps his marker. "Cardiac scarring, people."

Chase is back up. "CMV?"

Foreman nods now. "Enteroviruses, too, I think."

"Echo 11." House mutters to himself as Cuddy adds, "Influenza A."

"Influ A. Yes." House agrees quietly as he writes more ideas on the board. "And? We see more ideas being written on the board.] I'm putting RSV down as a yes. That makes eight."

Chase twists his face. "Eight vials of blood is pushing it."

House sighs. "Pushing it, but we love that! Get the antibody kits, start testing the sick kids."

Wilson agrees. "All right, I'll start looking into whether there are any antivirals for these eight."

House nods but then stills. "Wait a second. The, the kids on the floor who didn't get sick. Are any of them still in the hospital?"

Wilson tilts his head. "They got moved to the fifth floor. But they're probably all checked out by now."

Cuddy shakes her head. "No, the Lindpert boy had a bit of jaundice. He should be checking out today."

"I want to test his blood, too."

"Why?"

"'Cause we need all the information we can get. The healthy kid can be our control group."

"I'll just tell his parents he can't check out because he has the smallpox."

The group disbands. Chase heads out with Cuddy so he can draw blood from the Lindpert boy. Meanwhile, Cameron sets out to draw blood from the sick babies. Once they're done, the two teens test the blood and regroup in House's office.

"What did we get?"

Foreman looks over the charts now spread around the conference table. "Well, the sick babies all tested positive for Echovirus 11."

"Great."

"And CMV, and parvovirus B19."

House looks back in disbelief. " _Three_ viruses?"

Foreman nods. "What's weirder, the healthy kid we tested: he's positive for Echovirus 11 and CMV antibodies as well."

House sighs again. "They're infants. They have their mother's blood, their mother's antibodies."

Foreman balks. "So we just learned nothing?"

"Uh-uh. We have half the picture. The healthy kids survived because their mothers' antibodies saved them."

"The mom had CMV in the past she'd have the antibodies for them, the kid would be immune from it. So we test the sick kids' moms for Echovirus, CMV, and parvovirus."

House nods again. "And whichever they don't have the antibodies for, that's what's killing their kids."

Foreman jumps up. "I'll test the mothers."

True to his word, he begins drawing blood from Karen. He moves on to the other mothers while House crosses off Parvovirus B19 and CMV from his board. The blood tests come back, and House circles Echo-11. Cameron then gets up to join Foreman in talking with Karen and Ethan.

"Have you discovered what's wrong with our baby?"

Foreman nods. "Echovirus 11. It's an enterovirus. It lodges in the intestinal tract."

Cameron steps up to explain. "Enteroviruses cause diarrhea and flu-like symptoms in adults, maybe a rash, but for newborns it can be deadly. It's damaging her heart."

Karen nods, trying to understand. "Well, is there anything you can do?"

"Viruses are more difficult to treat than bacterial infections. We still haven't found a cure for the common cold."

Ethan doesn't quite meet any doctors' eyes. "So, there's no vaccine, or…"

Foreman bows his head. "There's a company in Pennsylvania developing an antiviral. It got positive results in a lab setting and we managed to get our hands on it."

Cameron helps with Baby Hartig, but then realizes what really needs to happen. Nurse Abigail is in the room, and the two share a look. Cameron goes back out to talk wit the parents.

"Can I get your guys' help with something?"

"Sure." Ethan nods.

"Your daughter, her –"

Ethan cuts her off. "Maxine."

Karen smiles. "That's her name."

"We need someone to hold Maxine off of the bed while the nurse changes her sheet."

"Sure." Ethan repeats.

The parents are fitted into scrubs as they follow Cameron back into the room. The parents carefully lift Maxine from the table. Cameron and Abigail change the sheets carefully and calmly. Down the hall, House nearly passes Foreman as he presses the elevator button.

"Hey, Foreman? Got a minute?"

Rather than verbally respond, Foreman walks in after. "So, pulmonary resistance is stabilized for the two kids, but BP's still –"

"No news, then. How's Cameron?"

Foreman raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Dr. Cameron?"

House rolls his eyes. "Sure. Let's start with her, and move on to all the other Camerons we know."

Foreman looks down sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm just not used to you asking about someone's well-being."

"I can understand how the question would surprise you. I don't quite get how it would confuse you."

"Why do you want to know?"

The elevator dings and they step out at the lobby. They start walking, though not toward the exit.

"Why do you want to know why I want to know?"

"Just curious." Foreman shrugs.

"Me too."

"You don't _get_ curious."

House looks affronted. "I'm the most curious man in the world."

"Not about trivialities."

"Well, then, this must not be trivial. How is Cameron handling everything?"

They reach the doors of the clinic.

"Just fine."

"Great, glad we talked."

With that, Foreman retreats to the cafeteria. He hasn't had anything more than toast and coffee, and it's already past lunchtime. House heads for a direct exam room where he knows he'll find Jill. He collects a clipboard and walks up to her.

"Your husband is definitely the source of your "mono"."

"Oh, wow. Oh, thank God. Wow, I'm going to be a mom. Whoa, heh heh. Thank you so much; I gotta get you a gift or something."

Tightly smirking, he responds. "Sometimes the best gift is the gift of never seeing you again."

"Okay, all right! But, Dr. House, you've been so awesome. I mean, I really, totally trust you. Do you think you –"

"No." He answers resolutely.

"- could do the prenatal?"

"No."

"Or deliver the baby?"

"That would be no." He remarks, patience wearing exceedingly thin.

"Okay!" She giggles nervously.

In NICU, Cameron discovers something and shows Chase for confirmation. He checks out Maxine Hartig with the stethoscope. They then leave Maxine under Abigail's care so they can head to the waiting room to talk with Karen and Ethan.

Ethan sees them first. "Oh, God. It's good news."

Chase grins. "No, it's great."

Ethan and Karen laugh and cry at the news. The teens lead the parents to a room before heading back to collect their baby. Maxine is wheeled in, and Karen is ecstatic to see and hold her daughter. Chase and Foreman stay with them a few moments longer, before joining Cuddy to help reunite the other families. A bit later, Cameron is packing up the differential room. House sneakily walks in.

"They all gone?"

"Hartigs are checking out right now."

"You look tired."

"Thanks."

"It's no wonder. You've had a hard time the last couple of days."

Cameron scoffs. "And you haven't?"

House bites his lip. "Not like you. Anyone who's that awkward either has no experience around death or too much, and I'm pretty sure it's not the former." Cameron starts to put on her coat. "Chase told me about that idea you had: the parents holding the baby. Where'd you get that? Did you lose someone? Did you lose a baby?"

"You can be a real bastard." She remarks as she leaves.

From the balcony, Cameron spots the Hartigs leaving the lobby elevator. They all look very happy, which makes Cameron smile. A few hours later, Wilson finds House sitting on a couch in the waiting room from earlier. The maternity ward is still closed for the rest of the day.

"Unfinished business? I thought all of the team got off early."

"I'm in the haystack."

Wilson rolls his eyes at the House-ism. "Ah, because now you know you're looking for a needle."

"Right." He answers, smiling slightly since Wilson understands him.

"If I tell you to "let it go," it won't make any difference, will it?"

"Enteroviruses are spread by humans. Fecal, oral… could be respiratory secretions, though."

"So, Cuddy got stool samples from the whole staff. Just wait until they come back."

"That won't do it."

"Why not?" Wilson sits down beside his friend.

"The shedder, whoever he is, is so virulent, Cuddy must have noticed him."

Wilson makes a hum of acknowledgement. It's enough to prod House to continue his line of thought.

"And the babies didn't share any common personnel. That's what's weird."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what's weird." Wilson agrees, though he doesn't share the interest.

Wilson notices House hasn't made any confirmation, and he follows his friend's eye line. An old woman is pushing a cart around with teddy bears to give to the newborns. She coughs a little, onto the toys, and House allows his face to contort into one of those darker smiles. Something clicks and Wilson gets it. The woman has a cold virus, which travels to her hand, and then to the teddies that she touches. The virus moves from the fur on the teddy bear to the face of the babies.

"You solved it."

House simply smiles, pulling himself to his feet with the cane.

"I haven't had lunch yet. Want something, Birthday Boy?"

House laughs a little then with a slight nod. "And I know where we can eat it."

Both doctors are off-duty. Half an hour later, they're sitting in the OB/GYN lounge. They've got half a sandwich and a coke each, with a bowl of fries and a bag of chips split between them.

"You saved my life." A patient on the television exclaims.

"I just ran some tests. Your will and determination are what saved your life." The doctor on-screen shakes his head.

"I know who I am now."

"Yes, you do. And I know who I am as well."

The door to the lounge opens; House and Wilson look toward the sound. Doctors Lim and Kubisak walk in, a little exasperated.

"Hey, seriously, man, you're not supposed to be here." Lim sighs.

"I'm performing a delivery." He answers honestly.

"You are?" Kubisak raises an eyebrow.

"Patient whose prenatal care I've been handling. Just checking her out a couple of minutes ago. Dr. Wilson here will be helping. Of course, I'll need one of you two guys to supervise."

Wilson nods in agreement despite himself. Lim throws his arms down.

"When's she due?"

"Late March." Wilson responds, struggling to keep his voice in check.

Kubisak frowns. "That's five months from now."

House and Wilson share a grin. The former speaks up for the two of them. "Thank God these chairs are comfortable."

 **Happy birthday, House! I love that so many of you are reading this and it makes me happy. What would make me happier would be for someone to review or PM me. I'd _love_ to hear from you lot. Christmas is right around the corner…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yes, yes. I am back with 1.05 – Damned If You Do. Alright, so House is 19 now. Wilson is 18, and so is Cuddy, but her birthday will be coming up in a few chapters as well. Chase and Foreman have a while for their birthdays; they're still 15. Also, Cameron's got a while for hers; she is still 14. I wanted to upload one every Wednesday, but I gave an extra chapter for 9/11. Now I'll do this every Thursday. Something tells me that'll be an easier task. At least, easier to upload. Please read and review.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

There is only one day left till Christmas. It's Christmas Eve. The clinic front desk has Christmas decorations on it, and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" is playing in the background. Wilson is working on paperwork behind the counter, while House is leaning back in his chair and playing with candies. House has a giant stack of charts next to him, but he finds the holiday candies much more appealing – though he hasn't eaten a single one.

"We are condemned to useless labor."

"Fourth circle of Hell." Wilson smirks in agreement. "Charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate the whole of classic poetry."

House flicks a candy at Wilson, landing on his friend's lap. "Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody. Pretty sure Dante would agree that qualifies as useless."

"You're over two weeks behind on your charting."

"Can't be behind if I never intend to do it."

House flicks another candy aimlessly, but this one nearly goes down Cuddy's shirt. She scowls, walking over to the boys.

"What are you, eight?"

"Could an eight-year-old do this?"

House sticks out his tongue and makes an ugly face. Wilson looks over and smiles but says nothing. Cuddy only fumes more.

"You better stop or it'll stick that way. You have a patient in Exam Room 1."

House leans back farther. "Yeah, but see, see, I'm off at twelve and it's already five of."

She rolls her eyes. "She's been waiting for you since eleven."

Cuddy walks off after House reluctantly takes the case file. He glances back to Wilson as he walks toward the exam room. "Melancholy without hope. Which circle is that?"

He then walks into the exam room without a second thought, but everything quickly slows to a halt. There are three nuns – two of them who may be in their late twenties or early thirties, and a third who is maybe seventeen or eighteen… apparently his patient. He takes a sharp inhale and moves over to inspect her.

"Hi. I'm Dr. House. What seems to be the problem?" He pops a couple Vicodin.

One of the older sisters – St. Eucharist – nudges the patient. "Show him your hands, Augustine."

She obliges, and House notices they are red and swollen. They're covered in hives and sores. The other sister – St. Pius – gives her hypothesis.

"It looks like… stigmata."

"Shhhh, Pius!" Eucharist snaps.

"You must be all the talk around the holy water cooler. You been washing a lot of dishes recently?"

Augustine nods. "I help out in the kitchen." 

"Anything new in the kitchen?"

Pius nods. "We just got a donation of saucepans and pots this week."

Augustine pipes up. "I unpacked and washed them."

"Should have spent your time saving souls, it's easier on the hands. This is contact dermatitis; you're allergic to dish soap."

"Nonsense!" Eucharist exclaims. "We've always used that soap. Why is there a problem now?"

"I've been a doctor for years. Why do I have to keep assuring people that I know what I'm doing? A person can become allergic to substances that they've had repeated and prolonged exposure to. The good news is: free samples. Diphenhydramine. It's an antihistamine. It'll stop the allergic reaction. Take one every eight hours, it might make you feel a little sleepy. And get some of that over-the-counter cortisone cream."

"Thank you, Doctor." Augustine responds politely.

He can't help but smile as he hands over the pills in a small cup. "You want some water?"

She smiles. "I have some tea."

"Well, you just relax for a few minutes. That stuff works pretty fast." 

He leaves the room as the other sisters crowd around with a thermos of tea. House goes back to the desk where Wilson is still at work. He tosses his new file on top of his others. He and Wilson know he'll get to them when he can't sleep. Neither of them talk about it. House leans against the desk counter, and Wilson smirks.

"Still out by twelve, I see."

"How do you solve a problem like dermatitis?"

"What?"

"Doctor?" Eucharist walks up to them. "I want to thank you for your patience."

Wilson's eyebrows shoot up. "She talking to you?" 

"I don't know. She's certainly looking at me."

"Oh, it's good to get a secular diagnosis. The sisters tend to interpret their diagnosis as divine intervention."

The woman is starting to irritate House, and he wants her to leave. "And you don't? Then you're wearing an awfully funny hat."

"Oooh, boy. Excuse me." Wilson leaps to his feet, carrying his remaining charts. He does _not_ want to get involved in this.

"If I break my leg, I believe it happened for a reason." The sister continues as if Wilson hadn't left. "I believe God wanted me to break my leg. I also believe He wants me to put a cast on it." 

House smiles slightly, but it doesn't last long. Sister Pius suddenly pops her head out of the door, shouting for him in alarm. He and Eucharist follow her voice back to exam room one. Augustine is on the floor, having difficulties breathing, as House pulls out his stethoscope. She wheezes harshly, eyes fluttering. House painfully gets down to her level.

"Lift up your chin."

She tries her hardest, though it becomes increasingly difficult. While he has the open, he listens to her breathing.

"Sister, you're having an asthma attack. I need you to relax."

He turns to Eucharist. "Roll up her sleeve, please."

The older sister does so, as House grabs a syringe from the cabinet. He nods to Eucharist, silently thanking her and asking her to move. Once again, she does so, and House kneels down to talk to Augustine again – as he injects her.

"I'm giving you epinephrine, it'll open your lungs and help you breathe."

"What happened?" Eucharist is surprised.

"Did she take the pills?"

"Yes."

"It's probably an allergic reaction."

Sister Pius looks at him in disbelief. "She's allergic to an anti-allergy medicine? How old are you?" 

Ignoring the last question, House resorts to sarcasm. "You figure somebody's out to get her?" Then, hearing the shallow breathing fading away, he glances down to Augustine. "How're you feeling?"

"Better." She smiles softly.

"I'll put you on some steroids instead."

She nods oddly. "Is my heart supposed to be feeling so funny?"

House nods. "It's called adrenaline, it makes your heart beat fast." He feels her pulse and his eyes widen. "But not this fast. Lie back."

He turns to the older sisters as he opens Augustine's shirt to listen to her heartbeat. "Get a nurse."

In a panicked but not too loud voice, Sister Pius calls out. "Help! Somebody help us!"

Angry of no response and how weak the younger sister is getting, House harshly shouts loud enough for the entire clinic to hear. "Somebody get in here!" A tech and a couple nurses rush in at his shout. "Call a code and charge up a defibrillator. She's got no pulse."

House immediately starts CPR while the other sisters are being ushered out and the defibrillator is being wheeled in. Half an hour later, Augustine is in her own room. Her cross and Bible are on the table next to her. Her sisters are praying at either side. In Cuddy's office, she's blaming House for what happened.

"You diagnosed the patient with allergies and prescribed antihistamine, she went into respiratory distress, and you injected her with epinephrine. Presumably 1 cc."

"0.1 cc." He corrects her. "That is the standard dose, that is what I gave her." 

"People don't go into cardiac arrest from 0.1 cc epinephrine." 

"She must have a pre-existing heart condition that got exacerbated by the epinephrine."

Cuddy crosses her arms. "It's too bad you didn't make a notation in the chart."

"I can make it up right now." He sneers, narrowing his eyes.

"The drawer has syringes with both dosages, you could have easily reached for the wrong one."

"But I didn't." House is rightfully persistent.

"Everyone makes mistakes. This is why doctors pay through the nose for malpractice insurance."

"Relax, they're not going to sue. Worse they'd do is whack my hand with a ruler." He responds, using sarcasm to diffuse his anger before he does something he knows he'll regret.

"And the discipline board? Are they gonna whack your hand, too?"

"You're going to report me?"

"What choice do I have?"

"Uh, how 'bout not report me?"

"I can justify keeping her here for 24-hour observation. If you haven't found an underlying cause for the cardiac arrest by then I will have to notify our attorneys."

House angrily looks at his watch and walks out. He finds Foreman at the elevator, and nabs Chase and Cameron in the hall.

"Differentials. Go."

"Her hands were red and swollen, maybe she has a skin infection. Cellulitis? That could manifest with tachycardia." Cameron wastes no time.

"There's no history of fever. Results from the CBC didn't indicate an infection." Foreman rules it out.

"The eosinophils were mildly elevated, sed rate's up a bit. Could be looking at a systemic allergic response." Cameron tries again.

"It's not allergic. Allergies don't cause cardiac arrest like this. Could be inflammation of the blood vessels." House shoots it down, and then comes up with his own idea.

"Vasculitis? That wouldn't give you an elevated eosinophil count." Foreman shoots it down.

"Churg-Strauss vasculitis would." House thinks aloud. "Blood vessels of the heart, lungs and skin become inflamed causing the asthma, rash and heart problems. Covers all her symptoms."

They reach the diagnostic office. They head inside, with the ducklings still talking as House moves on to his office to set some things down.

"Need a biopsy to diagnose." Cameron reminds House.

"Chest CT'd be quicker." Chase shrugs. 

"The lady just came in with a rash." Foreman doesn't like the vasulitis idea.

House returns to the office and pauses, staring at the wild display of candy canes sprawled across the table.

"What the hell are those?" 

"Candy canes." Cameron answers calmly. Foreman and Chase each take one. 

House makes a repulsive sound. "Candy canes? Are you mocking me?"

Chase immediately puts his back on the table, though Foreman rolls his eyes.

"No! It's Christmas and, and I, I, I thought –"Cameron stammers.

"Relax. It's a joke."

Chase picks the cane up again, placing it in a pocket. Foreman rolls his eyes again and speedways back to the case.

"Isn't the prognosis for Churg-Strauss a bit grim?"

"Yeah." Cameron nods. "Untreated only 33% of patients survive past a year; treated, five years."

"Then I'd definitely suggest treatment."

Foreman crosses his arms. "If it was any other attending doctor, I'd say that he made a mistake and gave her too much epinephrine."

House moves to the other side of the room to pour some coffee. "Saying you wouldn't say it was my mistake is saying it was my mistake."

He doesn't stand down. "Everyone screws up: your rule. I think you fit inside the subset of "everyone"."

House narrows his eyes, turning to face the team. "I didn't screw up. Order a chest CT and start the sister on prednisone, 40 mg. TID."

"The sister?" Chase asks incredulously.

"Oh, didn't I mention? The patient's a nun. Sister Augustine."

"Aww," He complains. "I _hate_ nuns."

House tilts his head. "Who doesn't?"

The ducklings walk into Sister Augustine's room while she and Pius are watching television. More specifically, they're watching a man and a women playing in the waves. As one of the teens calls the patient's name, Pius hurriedly turns the TV off. 

"We weren't watching." The now-confirmed seventeen-year-old sister remarks quickly.

Pius holds up the remote sheepishly. "We were trying to see if this was the bed control."

"Oh, um, this one's the bed control and that one's the TV control. I'm Dr. Cameron, and that's Dr. Chase and Dr. Foreman."

"I hadn't seen television in over ten years."

"Do you consider it the work of the devil, or do you just not get cable where you live?" Chase questions snidely.

"Um, how're you feeling, Sister?" Foreman cuts in.

"I seem to be a little better; they gave me some medication."

"Prednisone. It's a steroid to help with the inflammation."

"Has Dr. House figured out what I have? Will I be okay?"

"We're not sure what's wrong yet. You'll have a chest CT scan this afternoon that will help with the diagnosis."

Pius is upset. "Dr. House is giving her medication and he doesn't know what she has yet?"

"Trust, Sister Pius." Augustine calms her down. "It all happens for a reason."

Back in the hallway, the ducklings have a conversation. Foreman starts, still thinking House screwed up. 

"He doesn't know what he's doing. The only problem that woman has is that House grabbed the wrong syringe."

"You don't trust him?" Cameron is worried.

"I don't trust a man who won't admit he might be wrong. I notice you weren't so quick to tell her she has Churg-Strauss and only has a couple years to live."

"I don't tell patients bad news unless it's conclusive." She shakes her head.

"Because you know he might be wrong."

"About Churg-Strauss, not about what happened in the clinic."

"What about you, Chase? You think he's infallible, too?"

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "All I know is, if House didn't make a mistake and Sister Augustine has Churg-Strauss, he'll be self-satisfied and our lives will be good for a few weeks. If House did make a mistake, he'll be upset and our lives will be miserable for months."

Foreman takes this into consideration and nods. "There is that."

With the ducklings upstairs, House and Wilson have just walked out of the elevator and into the clinic. They're talking about what Cuddy has dubbed as 'the mistake'.

"If Cuddy thinks I made a mistake the least she could do is suspend me from clinic duty."

"She doesn't confuse making a mistake with being incompetent."

"Oh, here we go. Lesson time. I recognize that confidence is not my short suit. I also recognize that I am human and capable of error."

"So you might have screwed this up?" Wilson raises an eyebrow.

"No."

"So, it's only a theoretical capacity for error."

"Good point. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe that's my error."

Wilson shakes his head. "You know, most people who think as much of themselves as you do like to talk about themselves."

"Most people don't like to listen, so what's wrong with you?" With that, he grabs a top file for the patient in exam room one, leaving Wilson standing alone at the main desk.

As he enters, he sees Santa Claus sitting on the bed, fidgeting nervously. House makes a point of sniffing the air as he comes over and lets the door close.

"Let me guess… inflammatory bowel."

"Wow, yeah. Is it that bad?"

"Yes. It's also written on your chart. Bloody diarrhea, gas, pain… took sulfasalazine, but it didn't work –"

"No, then I –"

"Next tried steroid enemas, oral corticosteroids, 5ASAs, 6 mercaptopurine… I'm impressed."

Santa is confused. "By my medical history?"

House clicks his tongue. "By how well your last doctor charted."

"It's one thing to have to go to the bathroom every hour, but when the kids sit on my lap, it's…. The store sent me home, they're gonna fire me. Can't you put me back on 5 ASA? Maybe it'll work this time?"

"Not likely. I'm giving you a prescription. It's cheap, which is good because your insurance company won't pay for it."

He gives Santa a prescription, and he needs to put on his glasses to read it. Reading what he can make out, it leaves him with a questionable glance. "Cojorius?"

House shakes his head. "Cigarettes. One twice a day, no more, no less. Studies have shown that cigarette smoking is one of the most effective ways to control inflammatory bowel, plus it's been established that you look 30% cooler."

Santa is shell-shocked. "Are you kidding me?"

"About the looking cooler, yeah. The rest is true."

"Isn't it addictive and dangerous?"

House shrugs. "Pretty much all the drugs I prescribe are addictive and dangerous. The difference with this one is that it's completely legal." He opens the door and steps out to leave. "Merry Christmas."

Upstairs, since it was his idea, Chase is wheeling Augustine to the CT room.

"I was talking to the nurse, Arsenio. Do you know him?"

"Not really." Chase doesn't want to think about being here.

"He can take pictures with his phone."

"Cool." Chase mutters dryly.

"That woman from the lab was interesting, too. She studied astrophysics before becoming a nurse." She adds excitedly. 

"You know the staff better than I do."

"Well, I love to hear about people."

"Yet you live in a monastery."

"It's where I serve our Lord and the world best."

Chase rolls his eyes. "Our Lord, maybe. The rest of the world, on the other hand, would probably get more out of feeding the homeless or –"

"Healing the sick?"

"As an example, yeah."

"Did you always want to be a doctor?"

"Always. You always want to be a nun?" 

"My parents died when I was six. I was raised in a foster home run by the Church. This year, I went to the monastery where they let me take my vows. I've known no other life and I haven't wanted to."

Chase stays silent, as they've reached the room. After a bit of prepping, Augustine is ready to go into the CT. Foreman is talking to her through the microphone, behind the glass.

"Okay, Sister, we need to you lie as still as possible. If you get scared, just let us know."

"As Jonah said from inside the whale, "When I had lost all hope, I turned my thoughts to the Lord.""

"At least she's got God on her side." Foreman comments to the others.

Cameron looks straight ahead. "I don't believe in God."

"You're not even a little agnostic?"

From inside the CT, Augustine complains a bit. "Is it supposed to smell funny?"

One of the techs sitting by them turns shamefacedly. "Someone ralphed in there this afternoon. We cleaned it up, but…"

"It's normal, Sister. It's just a few more minutes." Cameron assures the sister. She releases the microphone and turns to the boys. "I believe in a higher order that's in control of what happens, but not one anthropomorphic entity called "God" that's concerned with the everyday workings of you and me."

"What else is there to control but the everyday workings of you and me?"

"It's always about you, Foreman."

"What else are you talking about? The trees, the fish? Should they be the ones to think it's all about them? What about you, Chase? Do you believe in God?"

"I believe Sister Augustine has no vascular pathology, which means no Churg-Strauss." He replies, not wanting any of them to know what school he attends.

"Which means House made a mistake."

"No, not necessarily." Cameron commends. "It could be something else. Thyrotoxicosis or a carcinoid." 

"I don't get you. You don't believe in God, but you're willing to put complete faith in one man?"

"Please, the smell!" Augustine is now panicking inside the CT.

All eyes turn toward her. All three see her thrashing about. The ducklings run to the scanner, shutting it off and pulling her out. Their voices scatter, attempting to console her.

"Please, please, the smell, I'm sick –"Augustine begs.

"There's no smell –" Cameron looks at her worriedly.

"No, God, no –" She suddenly puts her hands in a praying position, and gestures outward. With a gasp and a smile, she cries out. "Oh, it's Jesus! It's Jesus! He's coming for me. He's burning me with his touch!"

Chase rolls his eyes at Augustine's theatrics, but the seventeen-year-old is too busy laughing and crying to notice. Foreman takes hold of Augustine's arm as she continues, and he orders the others to help.

"Let's get her on some Ativan. Smells, religious visions are symptomatic of temporal lobe swelling. We don't want her to –"

"Oh!" Augustine lets out a sharp, pitched gasp before thrashing her body wildly.

"She's seizing!" Cameron calls.

"Help me get her on her side."

The three ducklings help one another as they maneuver the sister to her side, as her limbs fall loose and her eyes roll back.

"Religious visions?" Chase questions with distaste.

"Yeah. And next comes…"Foreman responds.

He lifts up part of her gown, and the gang sees a rash on her leg. Chase and Foreman share a look. They give her the medicine to calm her down, and help her back to the bed. Chase is assigned for wheeling he back to he room, while the other two are off to tell House.

"Patient tested positive for herpetic encephalitis." Foreman announces, only coming inside to see Cuddy is also there.

"So what's that tell us?"

"Her immune system is severely compromised." Cameron is unbothered by the other's presence.

"Ooh, I know! Prednisone compromises the immune system. Isn't that the medicine you gave her for the thing she doesn't have?"

"Yeah, but… hey. I'm think that's a trick question." House remarks sarcastically.

"Her immune system is severely compromised. Two doses of prednisone wouldn't do that." Cameron keeps going.

Cuddy raises an eyebrow. "Are you hanging your diagnosis on an adverb?"

"In ten seconds I'm gonna announce that I gave her the wrong dose in the clinic."

"You're gonna admit negligence?" Cuddy scoffs.

"Unless you leave the room. If you stay you'll have to testify." Cuddy stays put, arms crossed and frowning.

"Five, four, three, two…. So, there I was in the clinic, drunk. I open the drawer, close my eyes, take the first syringe I can find –" The ducklings simply smile as Cuddy leaves. "So, what are the options for compromised immune system?"

Smile slipping away, Chase steps up. "Mixed connective tissue disease. It'd explain why she was feeling better on the prednisone."

Foreman jeers, "Sure, she was feeling better right up to the moment it almost killed her."

House taps the floor with his cane in approval. "On the other hand, it explains the symptoms. Swollen hands, pulmonary problems, cardiac problems – it all fits."

Again, Foreman has the need to shoot this down before it can begin. "Except her ANA was normal."

"So redraw the blood."

"But the treatment is corticosteroids, prednisone, and we can't go there because of the encephalitis."

"Then we'll treat it with something that modulates the immune system but doesn't suppress it. Hypobaric oxygen chamber."

"There's no protocol for putting a patient in a high-pressure oxygen room to treat autoimmune problems." 

"Oh, you people. Always with the protocols." House brushes this off, turning to the background ducklings. "Prep the nun and discontinue the prednisone."

As Chase and Cameron leave, House begins to erase the whiteboard and continues to talk to Foreman. "I am both amused and annoyed that you think I should be less stubborn than you are."

"You are aware of the Hippocratic Oath, right?"

House rolls his eyes. "The one that starts: First, do no harm, then goes on to tell us no abortions, no seductions, and definitely no cutting of those who labor beneath the stone. Yeah, took a read once, wasn't impressed."

"Hypobaric treatments could cause oxygen toxicity, lung and eye damage –"

House cuts him off. "Every treatment has its dangers –"

In turn, Foreman cuts _him_ off. "Which is why we treat when we're only convinced the patient needs the treatment."

"I'm convinced. You're not." House huffs exasperatedly. "Question is, what are you going to do about it? Hmm?"

While Cuddy is trying to schedule an appointment of sorts, Foreman walks into the office. His body language practically screams _House_. She hangs up her phone and immediately sets aside some time to talk about it. Meanwhile, Chase and Cameron are putting Augustine into the hypobaric chamber.

"The pressure will force the oxygen into your system and saturate your blood. It will enhance white cell activity and reduce the inflammation." Chase explains absentmindedly.

"And that will help with this mixed connective tissue disease?"

"We'll be doing about ten treatments and then we'll reevaluate."

"The last treatment with prednisone caused the seizures, right? How confident is Dr. House about this?"

"That you reacted so strongly to the prednisone let us know that you had an underlying problem with your immune system." Cameron smiles gently.

"I guess it was a blessing… of sorts."

Meanwhile, in the hospital chapel, House is leaning across a pew. He's watching his medical drama on his portable television. The volume isn't loud, but even the smallest sound echoes.

"So, what's your favorite reindeer, Nurse Willow?" The doctor on-screen asks.

"Rudolph."

"I would have thought it was Vixen."

"What are you implying, Doctor Houston?" She squirms uncomfortably.

"Nothing, but I saw you at the Christmas party with Dr. Jules. And the two of you"

House turns the volume down when he hears someone coming toward him. He switches the television off as a whole, and then looks into the reflection of the screen. Sister Eucharist makes the sign of the cross, and then moves to sit beside House. 

"This is a chapel. A house of prayer." She whispers.

"House of prayer, huh. That explains the good reception. Also why nobody's ever here."

"I need to talk with you, Dr. House. Sister Augustine believes in things that aren't real."

House rolls his eyes with a huff. "I thought that was a job requirement for you people."

"She's been known to lie to get sympathy. She's a hypochondriac."

He finally sets the television down and looks over to her. "So, you're warning me that I may be treating a non-existent ailment."

She nods. "Sore throats, joint pains… there's always something wrong, and there's never a reason for it. Mother Superior plays right into it. Lets Augustine off work duties, treating her as fragile, special."

As she speaks, House takes out a chocolate bar from his inside pocket. He snaps off a piece to eat. "That must make you angry."

She winces at the turn of phrase, unintentionally staring at the chocolate. "It bothers me. It's not really in Augustine's best interests." 

"Want some?" House holds the bar out to her, genuinely offering her a piece.

"I shouldn't." She answers with a mischievous smile as she gladly takes the offering.

" I guess you've got to be good at reading people to be a good infirmarian, huh."

Eucharist has a mouthful of chocolate. "Mm-hmm." 

"So, we've got pride, anger, envy, gluttony…. That's four out of seven deadly sins in two minutes. Do you people keep records of these things? Is there a Cathlympics?"

She swallows. "They say you have a gift."

"They like to talk." The teen raises an eyebrow.

"You hide behind your intelligence."

"Yeah, that's pretty stupid."

"And you make jokes because you're afraid to take anything seriously. Because if you take things seriously, they matter, and if they matter –" She presses.

"And when things go wrong, I get hurt. I'm not tough, I'm vulnerable." House snaps a little harsher than intended.

Eucharist doesn't seem surprised. "I barely know you, and I don't know if I'm right. I just hope I am. Because the alternative is, you really are as miserable as you seem to be."

Darting back to sarcasm, House ends the conversation. "You know, from the way you're looking at me right now, I'd say you just hit number five: lust."

Wordlessly, Eucharist hands House back the candy bar and leaves the chapel. House picks his television back up and re-situates himself as he turns his drama back on; volume up.

"Dr. Houston, I love you, too." Nurse Willow smiles, leaning into the kiss.

The medical drama continues, but the conversation zones out of House's mindset. Chase and Cameron open the hypobaric chamber now that the test is complete.

"How're you feeling?" Chase asks robotically.

"A little weak." She admits.

"That's from the oxygen."

"My mouth is dry."

"Okay. Well, I'll get you some of your tea."

Down the hallway, House and Cuddy are walking and talking. Really, Cuddy's voice is just a pitch shorter than screaming at the slightly older teen.

"Mixed connective tissue disease? Her ANA is barely elevated!"

"Well, thanks for checking up on her. Good to know you've got my back."

"0-2 stat is down to 83, pulmonary problems, breathing problems –"

"Irritation from the oxygen is typical."

"She comes in with a rash and you put her into cardiac arrest."

"That well just never runs dry, does it? If there was no underlying problem, then why is she still having the rapid heart rate?" House's voice dangerously begins to rise.

"Maybe from the herpetic encephalitis caused by you giving her prednisone!"

"Her reaction is a symptom, not an error."

"There's always an explanation, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is! And if this one doesn't work will find another." He snaps, leering at her.

"But never one involving you screwing up."

"One that fits all the facts. Look, we obviously have a difference of opinion, and that's fine, but unfortunately I've used up all the time I've budgeted today for banging my head against a wall."

"I am going to do you the biggest favor one doctor can do for another. I am going to stop you from killing your patient." She dashes ahead of him, cutting off his step. "You're off the case."

Cuddy turns on her heel, leaving House just outside his office. He goes inside, seeing only one duckling. Foreman. The two share a glance, and then House's simple glance takes on a whole evil look. He pages the other two to join Foreman in Cuddy's office to discuss the case. If Cuddy doesn't want him on the case, it makes things a lot more interesting for House.

"We're going to treat the symptoms." Cuddy announces.

"Not the underlying condition?" Cameron tilts her head.

"There is no underlying condition. What's her status?"

Chase doesn't want to feel the wrath of the girlier House. "The sister's breathing is labored."

"Pneumonitis from the hypobaric chamber. Put her on 40% oxygen until her 0-2 stats increase."

"BUN and creatinine's rising, ALT and AST twice the normal range."

"Could be from the hypertensive episode. Let's follow them with labs."

"She still has the rash and the joint pain she came in with." Foreman reminds them.

"Order a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory."

Cameron tenses. "When we were looking at the differential diagnosis with Dr. House, we were considering –"

"I don't need to hear what Dr. House was considering! All of this girl's symptoms can be traced to Dr. House's considerations. Okay. Let's just get this patient healthy. I want her going out the front door, and not the back."

The ducklings leave the clinic, with Chase and Cameron riding Foreman's back. The taller teen groans from exhaustion, wanting desperately to put this behind him and just focus on the case.

"Hey, it's not like I betrayed him. Cuddy would have found out about the hypobaric treatments eventually." 

Cameron nods heatedly. "You did what you felt you had to."

Once the ducklings have left, House moves away from his hiding spot. He moves through the clinic, and immediately begins looking through the door with the epinephrine syringes. Wilson's voice from behind startles him, but House maintains balance.

"Can't get enough of this place, huh?"

"Came for my stethoscope." He rattles off an excuse.

"So, I shouldn't read too much into the fact that you were looking for it in the drawer with the epinephrine syringes in it?"

"Okay, yeah. I'd like to clear my reputation."

"Oh, right. I forgot that you care about what people think. Prescribing cigarettes for inflammatory bowel? It could cause lung cancer, you know."

House pointedly ignores his best friend's jibe, and leaves the exam room. "You know why they have ribbons for breast cancer, colorectal cancer, prostate cancer and not for lung cancer?"

"They ran out of colors?" Wilson tries disbelievingly.

"It's because people blame lung cancer patients. They smoked, they screwed up, and they deserve to die. The reason people die from lung cancer is guilt."

He enters Cuddy's empty office, and Wilson follows in suit – the latter carefully closing the door. House moves over to where the records are kept and Wilson lets out a low breath, decisively not saying anything about House's current actions.

"Huh. Well, guilt does a lot of damage." He remarks instead, referring to the lung cancer comment.

"You said that with great significance."

Wilson sighs again, this time getting a little more personal. "You're not here to find your stethoscope. You're not here to clear your reputation. You're here because you're having doubts. You might have screwed up."

"I'm here because, if I'm right, Cuddy is killing that patient."

Wilson nods. "Okay, but if you're wrong?"

Had anyone else asked, House would have a seething retort or a promise of pain at the ready. Since it's _Wilson_ , House can admit a select few things. "Then she's saving her."

Wilson isn't too shocked at the half-confession. "Fine. You're going to have to go through every record of every patient who's been through this clinic in the last two days, and you're gonna have to hope that those records can be trusted, which, by the way, yours can't."

Wilson leaves the office, and House slumps onto the available couch to ponder what he can do. Meanwhile, Chase has been assigned to help Augustine. She's in bed and he hands her a small clear cup with her pills. 

"These pills will help your kidneys function a little better, Sister. Get your wrist?"

He quickly takes her pulse and sighs, making a note in her charts.

"What's that?"

"104."

"Is that good?"

"It's fine."

"You're a lousy liar, Dr. Chase."

Before either of them can say anything else, Chase's beeper goes off. On it is the message "Call Mom!" His face flushes as he rolls his eyes.

"I have to get this. Excuse me."

Chase marches into House's office. The older teen is sitting on the edge of his desk, playing with a yo-yo. His cane is hooked to the side of the desk.

"My mother's been dead for ten years." He pouts.

"But she's always with you in spirit. What do you know about the nun?"

"Which one?"

"The cute one. I think she likes me." House groans. "The sick one, obviously." 

Chase shrugs. "Her parents died when she was a child and she's been with the Church ever since."

"What's she lying about?"

"Why do you say that?"

"I always say that. And the old nun says the sick nun is a big fat nun liar. You know nuns, what do you think?"

His face flushes a light pink. "I don't know nuns."

"You hate nuns. You can't hate someone if you don't know them."

Chase decides to use House's deflection technique. "Know any Nazis? Maybe I hate them on principle."

It doesn't quite work. "I have a theory on what makes good boys "good". It's not because of some moral imperative. Good boys have the fear of God put into them. Catholic Church specializes in that kind of training, to make good boys afraid of divine retribution so they will do what their daddies tell them, like, for example, going into medical school when it's the last thing they want to do. What do you think?"

"I think if she did have a secret, her boss would know."

Awkwardly, Chase leaves the office. House has an idea and clocks out early. He climbs into his car and drives out to the monastery. After explaining who he is and what he's come for, a few sisters lead him to Mother Superior.

"You are only a boy." She exclaims with a warming smile. "And you work the medical knowledge to help our sisters and brothers along the way. What can I do for you, son?"

Biting back any scathing remarks, House allows a small smile of his own. He remembers how church was like closing around Christmastime when he was younger. _Seven-year-old Greg House sat up front as he was given a petite chest of myrrh. He was dressed as a Wise Man, humming 'Amazing Grace' under his breath. A few pews back, he could see the joy in his mom's eyes. Greg was a bit of a troublemaker, but he always wanted to make his mom happy. Especially when his dad didn't._

"Did you paint, or put in new carpets recently, Ma'am?" 

"No."

"Any way she could have got access to, forgive me for being so blunt, drugs?"

"Well, we lock all of our medications in the infirmary, and we don't keep prescription drugs here." She explains as she begins to make a new batch of tea. "Forgive my bluntness young man, but why haven't you asked Sister Augustine about these things directly?" 

"I've found that when you want to know the truth about someone that someone is probably the last person you should ask."

"Ah. And have you been speaking to Sister Eucharist" Mother Superior watches him with a knowing smile.

"She ratted out her fellow sister pretty quickly. If I were you I'd have her repeat a year of nun school."

Mother Superior laughs at the comment. House blushes a little, but he makes no attempt to better the statement. "Becoming a nun doesn't make you a saint."

Without meaning to, House opens his mouth again. "Becoming a doctor doesn't make you a healer."

"Just because we live in a monastery and we spend most of our time in prayer doesn't mean we don't find time for drama." She purses her lips.

"So, what is the sick one's drama?" House asks, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave.

"Sister Augustine lived in Catholic foster care until she came to us." The kettle whistles. "Tea?"

"Sure." House responds while his mind screams _no_. "Do all of you lie?"

He cringes at the bluntness of the question, but Mother Superior doesn't look at all bothered. He takes it as a good sign and explains his questioning further.

"It's a good strategy, simpler when you all tell the same lie, but she has not spent her entire life as a good Catholic. When she had a cardiac arrest I had to open her blouse to do CPR and I learned two things: nuns can have nice breasts, and she has a tattoo on her shoulder of a skunk. Now, maybe it's the Sacred Skunk of Joseph, but as far as I know, Catholic foster care and monasteries do not keep tattoo parlors in their refractories."

House flushes again, this time realizing how he'd been rambling. He covers his mouth with the offered teacup and takes a few long sips. The nun chuckles a bit, setting down her tea.

"We consider that our life begins when we put on our habits and take our vows. What happens before then –"

"Is irrelevant to you, but it's relevant to me." He almost pleads.

Mother Superior sighs deeply but she nods. "Sister Augustine went into foster care when she was six years old, but she left when she was twelve. She lived on the streets; she got into drugs. When she was thirteen, she became pregnant, tried to self-abort. She lost the child, she became ill. We took her in when she came back. If we had thought it was medically relevant we would have told you." 

House only nods. He takes another sip before handing the teacup back to the older woman. "Thank you. This tea is delicious."

She nods as well. "Local herbs. My prayers are with Sister Augustine." She glances him over. "And you, as well."

House decides best not to comment on the last sentence. Instead, he heads back to his car. While he'd been visiting with Mother Superior, the team has been busy in the hospital. Cuddy has just gathered the ducklings in the hallway for updates as they walk; House is just pulling into his reserved parking place. They're currently walking from Sister Augustine's room to her (Cuddy's) office.

"Any change with medication?"

Chase lets out a shuddering breath. "Yeah, she's getting worse. Lung function's deteriorating, BUN and creatinine are continuing to rise. She's starting to run a fever and the rash is spreading. At this rate she's not going to make Christmas."

Cameron flinches. "Maybe House was right. Maybe there is an underlying condition that explains the symptoms, something we haven't considered."

"Like what?"

"It could be a metabolic disorder."

"Specifically?"

"Monogenetic."

"Specifically?"

"I'm just saying –"

"You're just saying you think House is right." Cuddy huffs.

"Might be right."

"Of course he might be right!" Cuddy almost shouts, coming to a halt right outside her door. The ducklings crash into each other. "It might be the Hand of God at work. Don't say it's something else unless you've got something concrete to offer."

A teabag is suddenly thrown onto Cuddy's paperwork that sits in her hands. Chase and Cameron flinch from the sudden contact. Cuddy just picks it up and stares at the entering House. "What's this, hemlock?"

""I'm going to do you the biggest favor one doctor can do another. I'm gonna stop you from killing your patient." It's figwort tea. Great for that little pick-me-up we're all looking for in the morning. Opens the lungs, increases the blood pressure, and stimulates the heart. Unfortunately, if you then get injected with even 0.1 cc of epinephrine: instant cardiac arrest. Still, what the hell, it tastes great."

Cuddy gapes at this new information. "Sister Augustine –"

House nods. "Has been drinking it religiously, so to speak."

"Take the cardiac arrest out of the equation…" Foreman catches son.

"All the rest of the symptoms can be explained by a severe long-term allergic reaction."

"That's what Cameron said in the beginning."

Feeling a bit of gratitude from visiting the monastery, House nods to the youngest of their group. "Yes, she did. Well done."

She grins in appreciation, but it doesn't last long. House breaks the strange silence by registering them back to the case.

"Okay, let's go figure out how to save a nun."

House leads the ducklings away from Cuddy's office, and toward his own. Cuddy disappears into her office, signaling her leaving the case and House regaining control.

"Because it's been untreated for so long, it's gone from a simple watery eyes, scratchy throat allergy to a whopping I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass allergy, compromising her immune system, diminishing her ability to heal and breaking down her organs systems. So, what's the source?"

"The dish soap." Chase says.

"No, symptoms persisted days after the dishwashing episode. It's gotta be something she's been exposed to here in the hospital as well as the monastery."

"Well, what about the tea? It caused her arrhythmia." Foreman raises the possibility

"Could be, but it's not definitive."

Chase wants to be back in the good graces of the older doctor. "We'll skin test for allergens."

Cameron shakes her head. "Not yet, she's too reactive. She'd test positive for everything. We need to stabilize her, isolate her from all possible allergens. Give her system a rest."

"Get her in a clean room." Chase adds in.

"Okay. And we'll gradually introduce allergens and see how she responds. When she reacts to something we'll know that's what killing her."

A little over an hour later, the ducklings are helping Augustine adjust to the clean room. The teenagers are in air-pressured scrubs, gloves and nets. Foreman pulls up the bed barrier rail.

"There you go. No television, no books."

"Not even my Bible?" Augustine questions.

"I'm afraid not. This room has filtered air, filtered water… you even have silk sheets. Very decadent and hypoallergenic. You should be feeling better here."

She smiles assuredly. Foreman and Cameron leave, as Chase makes sure her vitals are going on swiftly. He's feeling a little uncomfortable alone with her, due to the last solo conversation they had earlier in the hall.

"We'll be back to check on you in a little while." 

"Can the other sisters come in and pray with me?"

"It'd be better if you don't have any visitors. Once we isolate what's causing your allergy, then we can be a little more lax." Augustine turns away from the window and starts to cry. Chase feels bad immensely. "I can pray with you."

"I want to die. Why has He left me?"

"I go to Spencer High School."

In a soft voice, Augustine gently asks him, "Isn't that a seminary school?"

She doesn't turn to face him, still choosing to look out the window instead.

"Yes." Chase answers with a sigh. "They asked us once what our favorite passage was. I chose 1 Peter 1:7. "These trials only test your faith to see whether or not it is strong and pure. Your faith is being tested as fire tests gold and purifies it.""

""And your faith is far more precious to the Lord than pure gold; so if your faith remains strong after being tested, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day of His return."" Augustine finishes the passage.

"He hasn't left you. The only thing in the way of your knowing if he's left you is your fear. You have a choice: faith or fear. That's the test."

"Do you think faith doesn't mean I won't die?"

"It will affect how you experience your death, and therefore your life. It's up to you."

While Chase and Augustine begin to pray, Cameron and Foreman are talking with Pius and Eucharist on the other side of the window.

"We'll call you if anything changes." Cameron promises the two older women.

"Will she be all right?" Eucharist's voice is exceedingly worried.

"As long as she's not exposed to anything that will aggravate her allergy, she'll be fine."

Just as Foreman says this, Chase runs up and knocks on the window. Augustine is thrashing again, just like before with the allergic reaction.

"Need some help in here!" Cameron and Foreman start to suit up, but Chase is having none of it. "Screw the procedure, she's in anaphylactic shock!"

"No way, she's in the damn clean room." Foreman calls back, still getting dressed.

"You kidding me? Get in here!" Finally, Cameron and Foreman run in. "0.1 cc of epi."

"Gonna have to intubate." Foreman states after looking over her reaction.

"I got it." Cameron calls out as she inserts a breathing tube. "I'm in." They start to pump air. "Breathing's stabilized."

"It's a clean room!" Chase is worn out. 

The ducklings leave in separate directions after informing House. Sister Augustine has been put on a transferable watch. Two doctors at a time are scheduled to look after her, through the window. The ducklings check out at six, to go and spend the holiday with their families. When they check out, House has Wilson help carry his case files into the latter's office. House folds onto Wilson's couch, intending to work through the files. Wilson, already done with his, picks up one of House's and gets to work. The hours drift by, and someone knocks on the door at a quarter till midnight. It's Nurse Abigail and Dr. Peevey. Their watch shift has just ended, and now it's up to House and Wilson.

For the first time in hours, House speaks up. "How do you get an allergic reaction in a clean room?"

"Maybe it was the preservatives in the IV?"

"Checked that."

"Latex tubing?" Wilson stifles a yawn.

"Checked that." House sighs, running a hand over his face. "Checked everything." 

"Well, it could be mast-cell leukemia. It can cause anaphylaxis."

"Checked the blood levels. And it's not eosinophilia or idiopathic anaphylaxis."

"Maybe it's just divine will."

"It's not my will." He grumbles as he takes a couple of Vicodin.

Wilson wisely says nothing about it, moving on with the conversation at hand. "You do realize if you're wrong, about the big picture that is, you're going to burn, right?"

"What do you want me to do? Accept it, pack it in?"

"Yeah. I want you to accept that sometimes patients die against all reason. Sometimes they get better against all reason."

"No, they don't. We just don't know the reason."

"I don't think the nuns would agree with you on that."

House snorts a little, allowing a small smile to graze his lips. The two friends lean against the wall and watch in contented silence. After twenty minutes, Wilson silently moves but returns carrying a small bench for the two of them to rest. Both boys nearly fall asleep, but they have each other to nudge or pull, to keep awake. They remain like this for the other hour and a half. The delivery doctors walk over tiredly, to relieve the boys. Wilson retreats to his office, with House calling after that he'll go back after awhile. House is pacing in his office, to get blood circulation flowing, just forty-five minutes later. Cameron shocks him by entering the office.

"I just wanted to say that I know that you did everything you could."

He wants to know why she's not home with the family, it being two-thirty Christmas morning. Instead of asking her anything, he snaps at her. He doesn't mean for it to come out harsh, but he's tired and fed up with the case. It's bringing him back to bad places.

"I don't need verification from you to know that I'm doing my job well. That's your problem, not mine."

"I was just being nice." She sighs.

"Yeah, well, you don't need to always do that." He scowls.

Nevertheless, she pops up in front of him, brandishing a shiny wrapped package.

"Merry Christmas."

He takes it in shock. Before he can ask any questions or begin to unwrap, though, Chase walks in. House quirks an eyebrow as to why as well Chase is still here. Rather than bringing a gift, he comes bearing information.

"Sister Augustine's been extubated."

"Good." House nods, no longer wondering why the two ducklings are still here.

"She's requested to check out against medical advice. She wants to go back to the monastery."

"Well, talk her out of it."

Chase awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. "I think I may have talked her into it." 

House groans in disbelief. He places his present on the desk and gimps through the doors past his younger co-workers. He hurries down the hall and into the clean room.

"Room's paid up for the rest of the week. You might as well stick around."

"This illness is a test of my faith. If it's His will to take me, it doesn't matter where I am. I can accept that."

"Does anybody believe anything you say? You're not accepting. You're running away. Just like you always do." _Like I did,_ His thoughts break into his lecture. _You ran off and left Mom to deal with that bastard three years ago. We're lucky Mom let us back._ "You ran away from the monastery, you get laid, you ran away from the real world when getting laid didn't work out so well." _Does dating Stacey ring any bells? It should. You drove her off._ "Now things aren't working out again, so off you go."

"Why is it so difficult for you to believe in God?" Augustine asks, misunderstanding House's misplaced anger.

"What I have difficulty with is the whole concept of belief. Faith isn't based on logic and experience." He answers anyway.

"I experience God on a daily basis, and the miracle of life all around. The miracle of birth, the miracle of love. He is always with me."

"Where is the miracle in delivering a crack-addicted baby? Hmmm? And watching her mother abandon her because she needs another score. The miracle of love. You're twice as likely to be killed by the person you love than by a stranger."

"Are you trying to talk me out of my faith?" She sounds appalled.

"You can have all the faith you want in spirits and the afterlife, and heaven and hell, but when it comes to this world, don't be an idiot. 'Cause you can tell me you put your faith in God to put you through the day, but when it comes time to cross the road, I know you look both ways."

"I don't believe He is inside me and is going to save me. I believe He is inside me whether I live or die." 

"Then you might as well live. You've got a better shot betting on me than on Him."

"When I was thirteen, I was on every kind of birth control known to man, and I still got pregnant. I blamed God. I hated Him for ruining my life, but then I realized something. You can't be angry with God and not believe in him at the same time. No one can. Not even you, Dr. House."

The slightly younger Godly girl irks House to no end. House retreats to his office to calm himself. When he is finally feeling better, he walks out to the balcony and climbs over the divide so he can join his best friend in his office. As suspected, Wilson is busy with House's files. The latter drops to the couch and picks up a file.

"How'd it go?" Wilson is almost afraid to ask.

"She has God inside her. It would have been easier to deal with a tumor."

"Maybe she's allergic to God."

The boys work on House's files in the same contented silence as before. Eventually, around five o'clock, the boys are completely worn out and they fall asleep. Wilson is at his desk, and House is on the couch. They wake up a little past eight – with two doctors from the pediatrics ward informing Wilson that he's up with Cuddy to watch over Augustine. House wakes and makes some coffee before herding his ducklings from the differential room.

"We looked everywhere for an allergen that could be causing this reaction except one place: inside her."

"On her medical history she didn't mention any surgery." Foreman frowns, choosing not to say anything about House wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

"She had one."

Cameron tilts her head. "Can we get her records? What hospital was it at?"

"She didn't have it at a hospital. Order a full body scan."

"What if she refuses?" Chase knows there's a good chance she will.

"Tell her I'm looking for a miracle."

Soon, the ducklings have Sister Augustine in the imaging center. She's waiting on the results with her sisters, while the three hardly-slept teens are staring at the screenshots for some sort of answer. They're having trouble.

"No piercings, no fillings, no surgical pins in the arm, no implants…"Foreman sighs.

"It's clean as a whistle." Chase agrees. "What's House looking for?"

Foreman shakes his head, but then squints he at the screen.

"What is that?"

Chase squints as well. "Don't know."

"Lock on it. Get a 3D representation."

Chase does so, and the image shows a piece of metal in the form of a cross. Their eyes widen at the outcome. Cameron is the first to come out with 'oh, my God'. They take down the imaging rep and bring it in to show House. He shakes his head in absolute disbelief.

"The copper cross, a form of birth control pulled off the market years ago. Someone who didn't know about the current trends must have given it to her."

"So, she's allergic to copper." Foreman understands, but it's weird.

"Rare, but it happens."

"Wouldn't she know she had an IUD?" Chase can't help but ask.

"She had an abortion. IUD must have been left in, embedded in the eudiometrical tissue where it couldn't be detected."

Chase pieces the rest of it together. "So, all we have to do is remove the IUD and the symptoms should subside."

He gets the green light from House, and runs off to explain it to Sister Augustine. 

"I got this IUD when I was thirteen. It's been four, nearly five years." 

"Prolonged exposure to an allergen with minimal symptoms. But at some point, all it takes is one last contact to cause a full-blown reaction. It's like a balloon filled with air. One last breath, it explodes."

"The first time I got the rash was when I was washing the copper cookware."

"And all your subsequent symptoms came from ingesting food prepared in it."

She smiles softly. "Dr. House found his miracle."

Chase chuckles. "I doubt he'll interpret it that way."

Augustine smiles. "You told me your favorite passage. Would you like to hear mine?" At Chase's nod, she continues. ""Celebrate and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again."" 

"The prodigal son."

Chase merely smiles. "We'll schedule your surgery for tomorrow." 

With the surgery scheduled, the ducklings go home _for real_. It's a little past ten Christmas morning. House had gotten a missed call from his dad, warning him not to come visit until _after_ the New Year. Secretly, he'd rather spend the holidays with someone who won't ask unless needed, and asks in a way not expecting direct answers. He likes spending time with his best friend Wilson, though he never really admits it. House and Wilson are at the clinic desk once more. They're finishing the last of House's case files, with a coffee mug at the ready. 

"The sixth circle of Hell." Wilson sighs as he finishes his last folder.

"Confined in a sweat box with a bloody nose and all the tissues are soggy."

"I think that's the seventh."

House smirks. "Nope, seventh is –"

Wilson cuts him off with a smile of his own. "God, we must be fun at parties."

"I think we both know the flaw in that theory."

Rather than keep it up, Wilson is compelled to ask. "How's the Sister?"

"Kidneys functioning, heart rate is normal. You know how it is with nuns: you take out their IUDs and they bounce right back."

"Great."

"Told you I didn't screw up."

Wilson stares back. "You screwed up."

House groans audibly. "I gave her 0.1 cc of epinephrine."

Wilson snorts. "Yeah, and if Cuddy hadn't taken you off the case, you would have killed her." He quickly changes his tune to somewhat hopeful. "You want to come over for Christmas dinner?"

"You're Jewish." House deadpans.

"Yeah, Hanukkah dinner. What do you care? It's food; it's people."

"No thanks."

"Maybe I'll come to your place."

"Your fiancé doesn't mind being alone at Christmas?"

"I'm a doctor, she's used to being alone." He almost whispers as House raises his eyebrows. "I don't want to talk about it."

Quickly, House sputters, "Neither do I."

He finishes his final paper and Cuddy enters the area.

"You did well with the nun. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, Dr. House. Dr. Wilson."

She leaves without them needing to say anything in return. Everyone's got their own things to do for the holidays. Cuddy, House, Wilson, Foreman, Chase and Cameron are off work until January second.

"Good night. That was sweet."

Around noon, snow begins to fall in Princeton. Around three o'clock, Foreman is dressed up as Santa. He's passing out gifts to the sick kids at the hospital Christmas party. Cuddy is spending time with her family. Around five o'clock, Cameron is playing out in the snow without a care in the world. Around six o'clock, Chase is sitting in a back pew of the hospital Chapel service. The sisters and Mother Superior are up front. Around seven o'clock, House and Wilson are sitting on the couch at House's apartment. Wilson has no intention of going home anytime soon. The boys are eating Chinese delivery and drinking lite beer that House managed to get with his fake ID. By nine o'clock, Wilson is falling asleep on the couch as House gently plays his piano in the soothing tune of 'Silent Night'.

 **I finally got a review from 'tnt' – and I've gotta say thank you! Because of you, I've uploaded now instead of wondering what to do…**

 **Gotta say, I love House & Wilson. Cuddy's fine in the earlier seasons, but by season 3 or 4 she just irritates me to no end. When I get that far in writing, things will already be off-kilter from the original episodes. Warning in advance: homosexual relationships, bisexual relationships and Cuddy is a bitch.**


	6. Chapter 6

Yes, my beauties! I have returned with 1.06 – The Socratic Method. I thought I might help things out by saying it's a new year (for House and his peoples, anyway)! They are back at work, and it is sometime in early [meaning sometime before it hits the teen days] January. Ages from the last chapter remain the same. Sorry I'm late. My class was cancelled yesterday and I didn't think to upload!

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

In the ER waiting room, an eleven-year-old boy named Luke is pacing. The PA sparks to life, with 'Dr. Gregory House, please call Dr. Cuddy at extension 3731.' House, also in the waiting room, is sitting in a comfortable chair. His legs are propped up on the available table, and his cane is resting on the arm of the chair. He puts down his newspaper to frown up at the PA from his seat, though. Before he can return to his paper, Luke turns to him.

"This is a good hospital?"

House merely shrugs. "Depends what you mean by "good." I like these chairs."

He returns his attention to his paper. An emergency room doctor walks out, and Luke meets up with him. He's obviously nervous beyond measure.

"How is she?"

"Stable. OK. Your mom had a small pulmonary embolism; blood clot that got stuck in her lungs, blocked the oxygen."

Luke takes out a small notebook that had been tucked in his back pants pocket, and a pen from behind his ear. He flips through it, marking a certain day. "But the pain started in her leg." 

The doctor nods. "Where the clot started. Her calf. It's called a deep vein thrombosis. Basically a bigger clot."

Luke shakes his head, but hastily writes down the new information. "It never hurt there before. I would have noticed."

"Piece of that broke off, went up the vein, through the heart, blocked the blood flow to her lungs. No blood flow, no oxygen."

"Okay…" He acknowledges as he continues to scribble.

"Is your dad here? I have some things I need to talk to him about."

"Uh, my dad's running a little late." He apuses with the doctor staring intently, and he folds. "He's dead. Just talk to me – I take care of her."

"All right. Your mom's blood alcohol was .12. Ten thirty in the morning."

"I gave it to her." Luke admits. "Two ounces of vodka. It cools her out. But that's the first since Monday. That was three days ago. I've been real careful." The doctor looks at him; Luke sighs in defeat. "She hears voices." 

"She's schizophrenic? Explains the DVT. The alcohol makes her pass out, she's immobile for long periods of time…"

"That doesn't happen. She's not an alcoholic." Luke corrects him.

"She only drinks when you give it to her." The doctor nods. "We put her on blood thinners. You can probably take her home tomorrow."

"It's not the alcohol, it's gotta be something else." Luke frowns.

House rattles his paper, folding it down. " _Of course_ it's the alcohol." Both of them turn to look at House. Luke is confused, but the doctor is annoyed. "Hello!"

House gets up, grabs his cane and walks over to them. "This guy's a professional doctor. Plays golf and everything, I bet. He's not gonna tell you your mom's an alcoholic without proof. I'm sure he scoped for varices , checked her esophagus, ran all kinds of blood tests. Doctors like this, they don't make assumptions, they do the work!"

"I'd be happy to refer you the case, Dr. House. You seem so interested."

"What case? It's over. You're sending her home." He retorts sarcastically. He then turns to Luke. "How old is she?"

Still trying to wrap his head around the flurry of events, Luke gapes at the teen doctor in a _Pink Floyd_ T-shirt and jeans. "You're a doctor?"

House nods. "Own my own stethoscope. Did I ask you how old she was? I forget." 

Upon the case transferal, House receives all notes meticulously kept by the overworked preteen. They have the woman in her own room, and Luke is right alongside her. House is at the whiteboard, sporadically etching all the notes together. The ducklings are sitting around the table, attempting to make sense of the variety of information.

"Thirty eight year old woman with no previous symptoms or history presents with deep vein thrombosis - how did she get it?" House finally speaks.

"Oral contraceptives, smoking, diabetes, obesity, and what's the point here? A DVT's a DVT. Put her on IV heparin to prevent future clots." Foreman shrugs. "What's the big mystery?"

House groans. "Fine. You're all sleeping. You need a clue." He circles "38yo" on whiteboard. "She's 38 years old! She's 20 years too young to get a deep vein thrombosis!"

Foreman shrugs again. "I treated an eight-year-old girl once, soccer player, she got kicked in the leg…"

"There was no trauma, none of the risk factors."

Cameron balks at him. "You took a history?"

House bites his lip. "I… have some notes. They're not mine, but they're reliable, I think, for purposes of this discussion. As for the immobility, well, she's real active right now, of course – paranoia keeps her limber."

"Paranoia?" Foreman holds out his hands.

"Oh yeah – she's schizophrenic. And her kid wrote this," He pauses to hold up the hefty notebook. "So it might be a little biased. Having to take care of his nutso mom and all. You think there's a connection? Do we include schizophrenia in the differential for DVT?"

"Well…" Foreman is hesitant.

"The answer is no. Abnormal dopaminergic pathways in the brain do not cause blood clots. Schizophrenia is not the cause of DVT."

The ducklings go off on their own for awhile. House goes off to find Wilson so he can bounce through ideas. This continues as they enter the Cuyler Wing.

"On the other hand, we don't really know anything about schizophrenia. So maybe it is connected."

"Well, the schizophrenia explains one mystery – why you're so fascinated by a woman with a bump in her leg. Like Picasso deciding to whitewash a fence."

"Thanks. I'm more of a Leroy Neiman man. And it is only about the DVT. She's 38 years old, she should be…"

"Right. Solve this one and you're on your way to Stockholm." Wilson smirks.

They reach the nurse's station, where Wilson fiddles with paperwork. House taps his cane on the floor in frustration. He wants Wilson to take this seriously.

"We don't even know how to treat it! Come on! Fumigation of the vagina?"

At the last suggestion, Wilson's eyes dart back and forth. "A little louder - I don't think everyone heard you." He starts walking down the hall, and House trails him.

"Two thousand years ago, that's how Galen treated schizophrenics – the Marcus Welby of ancient Greece." 

"Oh! Clearly you're not interested."

"I'm interested." House protests. "I'm interested in how voices in the head could be caused by malposition of the uterus." 

"There's a better place for it?"

Ignoring him, House keeps going. "And now what have we got? We've got lobotomies, rubber rooms, electric shock… my, Galen was so primitive."

Wilson stops walking at House's office, believing it to be their destination. He looks over in confusion as House continues down the hall. 

"Where are you going?"

Without looking back, he answers. "Going to see the patient. That all-important human connection. Thought I'd give it a whirl." 

"You won't talk to patients because they lie, but give you a patient with no concept of reality…" Wilson keeps the conversation going as he speeds a bit to catch up.

"If it wasn't for Socrates, that raving untreated schizophrenic, we wouldn't have the Socratic method – the best way of teaching everything, apart from juggling chainsaws. Without Isaac Newton, we'd be floating on the ceiling."

Wilson raises an eyebrow, finding no way to argue. "Dodging chainsaws, no doubt."

House nods. "And that guitar player in that English band – he was great." He stops just outside of Lucy's – his patient's – room. "You think I'm interested because of the schizophrenia."

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure."

"Galen was pretty sure about the fumigation thing." House opens the door and slides it closed. "Pink Floyd."

He moves farther into Lucy's room. Luke jumps up. 

"Mom, this is Dr…"

"Gregory House – nice to meet you." He cuts in. He then turns to Luke. "Be all right if we spoke alone for awhile?"

"Well, you're gonna need me to…"

House shakes his head. "Got your case notes… doctor. There's a cafeteria downstairs." House holds out a twenty dollar bill. "Get yourself whatever you want as long as there's enough left over for a reuben sandwich, dry, no fries, hold the pickles. Should run you about $5.80 with tax."

Luke takes money with a sigh. As he moves toward the door, House pulls a pager off his belt and hands it to the kid. "I'll page you when we're done."

Luke nods and leaves. House goes over and sits at Lucy's bedside. She shakes her head, repeating House to let him know she acknowledges his presence.

"No… pickles."

"Nice kid. How much do you _really_ drink?" 

She looks at him with an unreadable expression. Out in the hall, Chase, Foreman and Wilson are watching through the window in disbelief. 

"He's really talking to a patient?"

Chase looks at Foreman for a brief moment. "I don't know who I am anymore."

"It's a blood clot. What's so fascinating about that?"

"He likes crazy people. Likes the way they think."

"They think… badly. That's the definition of crazy. Why would he like…"

"They're not boring." Wilson points out. "He likes that."

In the room, House is trying to get some clear information from Lucy. "And the meds…"

"Baseball!" She begins twitching. "I like baseball."

"Very nice."

"Very sad. My boy and me – we went to see a game."

"Not "Mets" – meds – medicine. You take what he tells you to take."

Her voice breaks. "No one believes me."

"I do."

Back in the hall, the three teen doctors haven't moved. Foreman is still bewildered.

"I thought he liked rationality."

"He likes puzzles." Wilson explains.

"Patients are puzzles?"

"You don't think so?"

"I think they're people."

"Yeah. Well, he hates them, and he's fascinated by them. Tell me you can't relate to that symptom."

Foreman shrugs and walks away. Chase doesn't say a word. Inside the room, Lucy is laughing and smoothing out the blankets over her legs. House smiles politely.

"You told Luke it never hurt before."

She shakes her head. "Just rough – they didn't hurt."

"Didn't?"

Lucy fixes him with a glare. "Don't lie to him, Limpie. Lively Lucy never lies to Lucas. Look what I do to him."

House merely nods and presses a button on his pager. He pulls himself to his feet and leaves the room. He joins Wilson and Chase; the former is the first to speak up. 

"Learn anything from the "human connection"?"

House exhales. "Yeah. The Mets suck. Also, for the last two months, she hasn't shaved her legs. Because of the tremors… she cuts herself."

"The tremors aren't new – she must always cut herself." Chase points out.

"Exactly. Something changed in the last two months. I'm thinking the amount of blood when she cut herself. So let's start with some bloodwork. Collect and send for clotting studies, PT, PTT, factor 5, protein C&S, the whole shebang."

"Good luck." Wilson wishes.

He leaves the hall, passing by Luke. He has a sandwich in his hand, giving it to House.

"No pickles, and it's cold now."

Cameron shrugs. "If it's a reuben, that's the way he likes it."

House throws a loose arm over the preteen. "Everyone, this is Luke."

Cameron holds out her hand. "Allison Cameron, it's nice to…" 

House cuts her off with a snarl. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, save it, we're busy. Luke, give us another half hour with your mom. We need to do some tests." Luke looks like he wants to protest, but he walks away. "Nice kid. Take her off the psych meds, that way we'll know what's what on the physical side, and who knows, we might get more out of her."

The guys walk away, and House opens up the wrapper. He sits down, munching into the sandwich. Cameron hangs back with him. "Don't worry – no pickles." 

"Did you have a good birthday?"

He pauses, taken aback. "Um, yeah…" 

"Good." She smiles. "It's not every day you turn nineteen."

She gets up and walks away, with House staring at nothingness. Eventually, he picks his sandwich back up and continues eating. In Lucy's room, she is not happy. Foreman is setting up to draw blood.

"No, no blood, not mine!"

"For the test, Dr. House said…"

She cuts him off by spitting in his face. Foreman presses the call button for help, and several aides run inside. They remain at either side, attempting to hold her as she thrashes. 

"You're gonna steal it, sell it, no, no blood, no, no blood, no, no blood, no!"

"Haldol, 5 milligrams, stat."

"No no no no no no …!" She fades out as the Haldol kicks in.

In exam room one, down in the clinic, House enters the room where an overprotective mom and her ten-year-old daughter wait.

"Well, good news, the lab says it's not strep, so we're done."

"Wait a second…" The mom starts.

"No, really, not strep. Boys in the lab, sure, they're hard drinkers, but they're pros, you know. Plus, your kid actually has none of the symptoms of strep. We just figured it was quicker running the test than arguing with you. My point is – go!"

"I just wanted to ask your opinion, doctor. She's having a birthday party next week and she's upset that I'm getting a sugarless cake."

"The other kids hate it!" The girl pouts, looking hopeful toward the boy nine years older.

"This is why you're here." House rolls his eyes.

"Sugar is the leading cause of obesity in America." Her mom frowns.

House pinches the bridge of his nose. "You want a doctor to scare her about the dangers of sugar."

"She needs to get her weight under control."

"Well, you know…" House sighs, walking over to the girl. "I feel sorry for those other kids, Wendy, who don't have a mom like yours – a mom who knows that sugar causes heart disease, appendicitis, and athlete's foot."

"That's not fair." Wendy's mom crosses her arms.

"Oh, yes it is. No, I get it. You want her to slim down a little, so she can wear pretty clothes like yours." He pointedly glances at their matching arm wear. "Love the bracelets. Hey! What about matching outfits? You could be twins! She can't be your daughter; it's impossible. You look way too young!" As he leaves, he throws a last minute comment over his shoulder. "Happy birthday. Get the kid a damned ice cream cake." 

He gratefully leaves the clinic and runs into House on the way to his office.

"You drugged her." The eleven-year-old immediately confronts him. 

"Actually, I didn't. I've taken her off all medications."

"Your guy, Foreman, gave her Haldol." The kid persists.

"We needed blood for some tests. I assume that was the only way to get it."

"He knocked her out."

Already getting increasingly irritated with the kid, he towers over him. "Look – I have a cane, and I know how to use it."

Luke winces a little, but he doesn't back down. "I hired you. You work for me."

House suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, can I go now? Boss?"

House walks away, moving toward his original destination. Luke calls after him.

"The Haldol changes her. She says it makes her soul numb. Don't give it to her."

House pretends like he doesn't hear, and Luke returns to his mom's room. He pulls up a chair to talk with her. In no time, he's reading a story to her, one of her favorites.

""If there be rags enough, he will know her name and be well pleased remembering it."" He pauses when his mom starts coughing. "You okay?"

""Old… days…"" She smiles.

Luke nods and returns to the book. ""For in the old days, though she had young men's praise and old men's blame, among the poor, both old and young gave her praise.""

He would continue, but Lucy coughs again. This time, blood spatters on the page. Luke turns in surprise, only for Lucy to be trying to sit up. She's coughing and vomiting up a lot of blood. Luke jumps up and runs to the door, shouting.

"Help! Somebody, help!"

Available nurses rush in to help. Her updated chart reads 'no Haldol', and they adjust accordingly. The incident sends pages to the team. Chase is in the clinic, and the others are in the differential office. House immediately stands up and marches into his office.

"Foreman!"

The fifteen-year-old sighs and follows House into the office. The older kid locks it and immediately moves in to chew Foreman out.

"So, when I said, "no psych meds," I'm just curious – which word didn't you understand?"

"The Haldol had nothing to do with the bleed. You know that. I used it purely as a chemical restraint." Foreman explains how it can't be his fault.

"Oh, great, well, that's good to hear. So she won't experience any of those pesky little side effects you get when your motives _aren't_ pure."

"Those side effects are so rare!"

"Passing out, increased confusion, depression, that's not gonna happen. That's not gonna screw up our diagnosis, 'cause you just used it to restrain her. I'm so relieved!"

"She spit in my face!" He's running out of reasons to be mad.

House cynically sighs. "It must have been so frightening for you." 

Foreman groans with a solid huff. "What was I supposed to do? Tie her down?"

House almost yells. "Yeah! Anything but give her drugs – that's basically my point!" 

He leaves his office, storming into the differential room when Chase arrives. He's holding a folder, which he hands over to House. Still, he looks at Cameron when he speaks.

"The clotting studies. Pretty fast – you promise to date the entire lab?" 

"No – I save that for emergencies. I told them she bled out two units and if it happened again, she'd die."

"If it'd happened at home, she would have died. That ER doc, he was gonna send her home."

House scowls, some anger burning down. "It turns out your best judgment is not good enough. Here's an idea – next time, use mine." 

Chase stays behind as the other three head out into the hall. House speaks up from the silence, in a slightly less agitated voice.

"Why did the patient bleed out?"

"The clotting studies so far are normal." Cameron mentions when Foreman says nothing.

"Well, cover your ears if you don't want me to spoil the ending. Everything was normal, except for prolonged PT time, which means what?"

Cameron silently urges Foreman to say something, which he does to break the silence. "Usually it means, whoever drew the blood didn't do it right."

"Oh, that's right – 'cause… you drew the blood. But you were precise, because you knew the tube was purely for the PT study."

"That's right."

"And I'm right with you. I trust this result. For two reasons: a) because you are a good doctor, and b) because five milligrams of IV Haldol makes for a spectacularly cooperative patient. The prolonged PT time makes me think she's got a vitamin K deficiency."

"Vitamin K would explain the bleed but not the clot." Cameron pipes up from the tension.

"Without vitamin K, protein C doesn't work. Without protein C, she clots. Clotting and thinning; all at the same time."

"What about another drug interacting with heparin, an antibiotic like ampicillin? That would …"

"Clever, but she's not on ampicillin."

Cameron flips through the notes. As she does so, Chase jogs up to join them. "Two months ago, she complained of a sore throat. And he got her ampicillin."

"Which she refused to take."

"He just said she didn't take it. What is it, everybody lies, except for schizophrenics and their children?"

Chase chooses now to weigh in. "It's more likely than malnourishment. Why not scurvy or the plague?"

House says sarcastically, "Gee, I wish my idea was as cool and with it as yours. What is yours, by the way? Do you have one?"

Chase nods. "Alcohol. Simple. It causes immobility, which explains the DVT. It also causes cirrhosis which explains the bleed and the prolonged PT time. Let's ultrasound the liver."

"Three theories. Check out her place for ampicillin and diet, then ultrasound her liver. Let's find out who's right before she bleeds to death."

The ducklings suddenly walk away. Chase and Foreman enter the patient's apartment building. They travel upstairs in silence, coming up to the specific door. Chase moves in first, pulling a credit card from his wallet and attempting to open the door with it. Foreman watches in amusement.

"So House says the kid's sensitive. Thinks he takes good care of her. If we don't find anything, why let him know we did it in the first place? What's the point?" Foreman lifts something from his back pocket. "Why not just make old Foreman lift the key from the kid's backpack?"

Chase takes it with a scowl, and they go in. The couch is rumpled, as though someone sleeps there. Judging by the Pixar-themed sheets and notebooks cluttering the table beside it, one can easily estimate the boy sleeps there. Chase decides to point it out while Foreman bypasses the living room as a whole.

"Looks like Luke sleeps in the living room."

"Nothing in there." Foreman leaves the bathroom, falling short at the woman's bed. "He lays out her clothes?"

Sure enough, a flowery nightgown and slippers are laid out at the end of the bed. Chase joins him, noticing that the bureau drawers are labeled with days of the week. Chase shakes his head.

"Enough organization, enough lists, you think you can control the uncontrollable. Fix her meds, fix her clothes, maybe you can even fix her."

"Pick that up on your psych rotation?"

Chase ignores him, picking up a framed photograph of a younger Lucy and six-year-old Luke. Foreman peers through the clutter and discovers the strongbox.

"Trifluo perazine, Thorazine, Foziril – whew, they tried everything. The ampicillin –" He stops and shakes the bottle. "Damn, they never touched it. There goes Cameron's theory."

"Oh, God, I hope it's not a vitamin K deficiency."

Hurriedly, the fifteen-year-olds go into the kitchen. The fridge is empty, but the freezer is full of frozen burger dinners. The boys hiss and stomp their feet in disappointement.

"Damn." Chase curses.

"Breakfast, lunch and dinner. House was right."

The boys bag a few boxes up for House. An hour and a half later, the microwave in the diagnostics differential lounge beeps. House takes out a frozen burger and goes to sit at the table, which currently only has eleven-year-old Luke seated.

"That's the only thing she'll eat."

"Ah. Problem is, you can't actually live on this stuff."

"I checked it out, I looked on the box, all the nutritional values were solid. There's plenty of protein, and calories…"

"Yeah, vitamin A and C, but no K. That's why your mom got sick."

"So, what's the plan?"

"Load her up with vitamin K."

"That's it?" Luke stares back in incredulity.

"If it all checks out, you can take her home in a couple of days. Oh God, you're upset about something. You're gonna open to me now, aren't you?"

Luke starts to cry. "It's all my fault…"

House rubs a hand over his forehead. "Here we go…. OK, I'm gonna say this once. You have done a very good job taking care of your mother. If this was all she'd eat, then what else could you do? Gosh, just being a kid is a full-time job…"

Luke goes from crying to getting angry in an instant. "Shut up! I'm eleven, double digits! I should be able to take care of my mom! I almost killed her."

House merely shrugs. "Good example, just the time it takes to express those ridiculous self-centered teenage ideas… I don't envy your schedule." He takes a bite of the burger. "No pickles."

"My mom doesn't like them either." Luke's attitude has changed again, now to a more fond yet resigned tone.

"Smart woman."

"Before she got sick, I didn't like how bossy she was, always telling me what to do, the right way to do it. Never thought I'd miss that." He lifts his backpack, and then quietly complains of wrist pain. "Ah…"

House smirks. "You should get that looked at."

About an hour later, Foreman and Chase are walking down the hall. Chase just can't shake that something is wrong; that they've just overlooked something in front of them.

"I still don't buy a vitamin K deficiency."

"House was right. That usually makes you happy. Less work for us."

"The kid feeds his mum a steady diet of booze and the problem is too many burgers?"

"The kid's in a tough situation – you do what you've gotta do to survive."

"Feeding alcohol to an alcoholic is not a survival technique." The blonde shakes his head.

"Where I come from, if it works…"

"Yeah, right. I'm rich, I couldn't possibly understand what this kid is going through. Just because you're drinking pricier stuff doesn't mean you don't have a problem."

"You've seen someone stagger down that road?"

He doesn't answer the given question. "No way vitamin K's the whole story."

While the two discuss the case, House is placing up fresh x-rays on the lightbox in his office. Luke is with him, since the x-rays are of the younger kid's wrist.

"It's not broken." House assures the preteen, pointing at a certain area. "See this right here? It's the epiphyseal plate, otherwise known as the growth plate."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Amazing thing, this bone. If you know how to read it, it can tell you how old someone really is, exactly how old."

Immediately, Luke regrets everything. His eyes are downcast and he searches for something interesting on the floor. "Great." He mutters weakly.

"Not even nine. Almost, though. Two weeks away, maybe a month."

"Last week. I turned nine last week."

House walks over to his desk and sits down. "Happy birthday to both of us. I turned nineteen a few weeks ago. If you're gonna lie though, go big, go sixteen. That way you won't need your crazy mom to help you buy cigarettes or any of that other stuff."

"Great. Thanks for the tip." He sighs quietly, whipping out a spare notebook. "Now, when I bring my mom home, is there anything I need to know about taking care of her?"

"I suppose your biggest worry isn't the booze. You're nine, basically no mom. Child Welfare let kids get away with that, well, they wouldn't need those nice foster homes, and that would make them sad."

"They'd put her someplace too." He interjects. "My life is working."

"Not the word I'd use. Most nine-year-old kids are doing what they're supposed to be doing, you know, they're sniffing glue, eating mud…"

Feeling defensive, his walls rise. "If you turn me in, I'll sue you. That's privileged information."

House scoffs. "Oh, relax. It's not even your x-ray."

Luke is taken aback and House makes a face at him. Down the hall, Chase and Cameron are in Lucy's room. Chase is completing an ultrasound of her liver, while Cameron busies herself with a drug vial.

"She's awfully calm." Cameron looks her over.

"House write new orders?"

"There's a little bit of scarring, not much, not enough to con…"

Chase frowns. "It's cirrhosis. But she doesn't drink!"

Cameron frowns as well. "Congratulations, you win." She then catches something on the monitor. "Actually… no one wins."

Chase follows her gaze. "A tumor. Cystic?"

Cameron looks away. "Solid mass. Cancer." 

The teenagers call Wilson in for a consult. He looks at the ultrasound and confirms their suspicions. "The vitamin K caused the DVT, and aggravated the liver. But the tumor's the real reason for the bleed. The tumor's the problem."

Wilson goes to talk to the patient, while House and the ducklings convene in the conference room. Wilson puts on his serious look.

"Mrs. Palmeiro, I'm Dr Wilson. I'm afraid I have some bad news from your ultrasound. You have cancer."

At once, Luke puts down notebook, walks away from her bedside, overwhelmed. Lucy watches his reaction. In the conference room, they discuss the possibilities.

"It's big. Five point eight centimeters." Foreman describes.

"We do nothing; she dies from liver failure within sixty days." Chase runs a hand through his hair.

"She needs a transplant." Cameron almost demands.

"That's gonna happen." House spits out sardonically.

"She's a 38 years old, she's a mother..."

House sneers at the picture-perfect world Cameron seems to be living in. "She's a schizophrenic mother, with no money, on the public dole, in fact, who knocks back vodka every time a breeze blows her way." 

Wilson walks in as Foreman speaks up to add to the conversation at hand.

"Mickey Mantle had a whole bar named after him. He got a transplant."

"Yeah, well, Lucy can't switch-hit. Plan B. Surgery to resect the tumor."

Chase has an idea. "Joe Bergen does the knife thing - laser cauterizes while it cuts, saves more liver."

Wilson sadly shakes his head. "The tumor's way too big. He won't even consider it."

Foreman frowns. "Not a big risk taker, Bergen. He won't even drink milk on its expiration date."

Wilson holds up his hands. "He has no discretion. Five point eight centimeters is past the surgical guidelines." 

House hesitates. "Would he do it at 4.6?"

"Why don't we just say it's zero, then we don't need him at all. Tumors grow, they don't shrink." Cameron ridicules.

"This one does." House states.

It's really late when the team figures this out. Two team players have a role early in the morning, but for now, the team is going home.

About thirty minutes past seven in the morning, Wilson and Cameron are in Lucy's room. Cameron is operating the ultrasound while Wilson watches with the large syringe in hand. They're all set to shrink the tumor for surgery.

"Ninety five percent ethanol. The ethanol dehydrates the tumor cells, literally sucks them dry. Shrinks the tumor temporarily."

Cameron feeds him a look. "How temporarily?"

"Well, if we're lucky, just long enough to fool the surgeon." 

Several minutes before nine, House walks into the clinic – only to catch Cuddy coming out of her office. He inwardly curses, but externally smirks a little in her direction.

"Good morning, Dr. House!"

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy! Love that outfit. Says, I'm professional, but I'm still a woman. Actually, it sorta yells the second part."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, and your big cane is real subtle too."

Ready to get out of her eyesight, he turns to walk away. "Gotta go. Those running noses aren't just gonna start walking on their own."

She doesn't allow him to get too far. "The clinic can wait."

House stops but doesn't turn fully around. "How long? Maybe we could catch a movie."

"You should know by now my doctors have no secrets from me."

House facepalms with a visible scowl plastered on his face. "I don't believe it. Who came running to Mommy?" 

"It doesn't matter who. The point is, I know exactly what you did."

House's eyes widen. "You have no idea what I'm talking about."

She walks up to him. "Somebody knows about a bad thing you did – that's a big field. But somebody you think might have told me, that narrows it down quite a bit. Someone who views me as a maternal authority figure. A young person, perhaps… How am I doing? You think I'm gonna get there? Presumably hospital business. How many patients…"

"It's Chase. He was wearing those damn short shorts again. He distracted me and I just felt that deep sense of belonging."

Cuddy rolls her eyes again, at the overwhelming theatrics. "Actually, I was just gonna remind you, you owe me six clinic hours this week."

"Oops."

They separate. Cuddy walks over and picks up a phone, requesting the charts on House's current patients. House, on the other hand, grabs the chart for whoever is in exam room one. The patient, Henry, keeps hiccupping.

"Hiccups. I've tried everything."

"Um-hmm." House reads from the chart. "Pulling the tongue, icepacks on the throat, hitting yourself… the groin pinch. Well, you've certainly covered all the normal medical bases. Uh, how are you hitting yourself, though? Is it open hand or fist?"

"Open hand."

"Well, that's how they teach it at Harvard Med. How hard though?"

Cuddy barges in as Henry slaps himself with force.

"I'm sorry, I missed that. Could… could you do that again?." Henry slaps himself again. That's… that's very good." House turns sideways to Cuddy. "Hiccups."

She's definitely _not_ in the mood. "I need to speak with you. _now_." 

"Mm-hhmmm, I need to go pee-pee." He turns to the patient as he walks out. "Dial it up a notch and repeat. I'll be back." Cuddy follows as Henry slaps himself again.

Minutes later, House is washing his face in the men's room as Cuddy walks in. House groans and dries his hands and face on a paper towel.

"Ooh, girl in the boys' bathroom. Very dramatic. Must be very important what you have to say to me." He announces in an exaggerated tone of voice.

"Yesterday your patient's tumor was 5.8 centimeters. Today it's 4.6. How did that happen?"

"At a guess, I'd say "Dr. House must be really really good – why am I wasting him on hiccups?"" At her pointed look, he explains himself. "I wash before and after." He unashamedly walks over to urinal.

Cuddy crosses her arms. "You also requisitioned 20cc of ethanol - what patient was that for? Or are you planning a party?"

"Do me a favor…?" He asks instead, calling over his shoulder.

Cuddy groans, a little disgusted, as she turns on the water faucet. He barely audibly thanks her and starts to pee.

"You shrunk the tumor!"

"Only way to get the guy to do the surgery…"

"Fraud! Fraud was the only way. There is a reason that we have these guidelines."

"I know – to save lives. Specifically doctors' lives, and not just their lives but their lifestyles. Wouldn't wanna operate on anyone really sick – they might die and spoil our stats."

House shakes and zips his fly. He makes his way back to the sinks to wash his hands. Cuddy moves over a little.

"Bergen has a right to know what he is operating on."

"True. I got all focused on her right to live, and forgot. You do what you think is right." He concedes demeaningly as he grabs another paper towel. 

A few hours later, Cameron walks into House's office as he's typing away on his computer. She shyly walks directly up to his desk when he notices her. He stops and turns to face her.

"You really didn't know."

He raises an eyebrow. "No. I didn't. And frankly I'm angry. Which I'm guessing is the correct response. 'Course I'll know better once you tell me what you're talking about."

"Your birthday."

"Oh. Anger was a bad guess. Well, normally I'd put on a festive hat and celebrate the fact that the earth has circled the sun one more time. I really didn't think it was gonna make it this year, but darnit, if it wasn't the Little Planet That Could all over again."

"It's a birthday. It's an excuse to be happy. You think that's lame? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Why are you here? To buy me a pony?"

She purses her lips. "I'm just waiting for the surgery."

"Yeah well, go scrub in." 

Another hour and forty-five minutes later, Doctor Bergen is angry at the decisions. He's discovered a flaw in his latest patient, ordering his lackeys to close her up. He's removing his operating gloves and mask as he and Cameron walk out.

"That tumor didn't just walk itself into a bar and order up a double shot of ethanol. Someone _shrunk_ it down." 

"I'm sorry. It was very, very wrong."

"House is lucky I didn't just close her up. He tries again, that's what happens."

"I'll pass it on." She nods. 

Another two hours pass, and the results are back. Lucy is in her room, fast asleep. Chase is sitting by with Luke.

"It looks like the surgeon got it all, but she's gonna have to have some chemotherapy."

Luke adds this news to his notes. "What kind is it?"

"Luke, stop writing. If you stop for a second, it's not all gonna fall apart. Give yourself a break once in a while. The fact is, your mum's gonna have an extra drink every now and then."

"No. No, she won't, she doesn't."

"Fine. There are some things you just can't fix, that's all I'm saying." 

"That's how you'd handle it, something like this? You'd just give up?"

"No. I'd do it just like you. It's an infusion." Chase hands him a pamphlet. "She's gonna have a drain in her abdomen, you're gonna have to check for possible infections." 

Before either boy says another word, a thirty-something woman shows up in a business suit. "Lucas Palmeiro? Trina Wyeth, Child Services, State of New Jersey."

A forty-something man in a gray suit stands firmly behind her. Chase stands up in somewhat of an alarm. He feels protective toward Luke.

"Can I help you? This is a private room."

"He's only nine-years-old, a minor, he's in a tough living situation - we're just here to help."

"I don't need your help!" Luke calls out at the same time Chase questions the age. "Nine?"

"Lucas, you're gonna have to come with us. Right Now."

"Where are you taking him?"

"Until the determination had been made, he'll be housed at Children's Services."

"I don't wanna be housed, I live with my mom."

"Not for the next few days." She watches as Luke stands up, and goes over to Lucy's bed. "Come on, let's not make this difficult, huh?"

"Mom? Mom? I love you."

She blearily wakes up and turns over to face him. 

"The Mets lost. You remember?"

He smiles sadly. "Yeah. I remember."

"I love you." She whispers as she closes her eyes.

Luke picks up his backpack and walks out crying, with tears streaming down his face. House and Wilson are just down the hall, waiting for an elevator.

"Cuddy didn't say anything about pushing Bergen to finish the surgery?" Wilson asks suspiciously.

"Not a word. Some kind of mind game. She's waiting for me to crack."

"Well, either that, or she's just being nice."

The elevator dings. House shrugs. "Yeah, well…"

Neither of them can get on, as Luke storms past them, followed by Child Services reps. The teens share a glance and board the elevator car as well.

"You said you wouldn't call – you're a real bastard, you know?" Luke glares at House's reflection as the doors close.

"Yeah. I get that a lot. I don't think Mom's crazy." 

Hours later, Luke is gone off to Children's Services. House is sitting in Lucy's room, reading to her. ""For in the old days, though she had young men's praise and old men's blame, among the poor, both old and young gave her praise."" He snaps the book shut, watching as she sits up from the sound. "You called Social Services. It was you."

"No, no. No." She begins to protest.

House waves a hand absently. "It's Okay, it's Okay, I get it. He'll have an easier time dealing with the system. Sure, he won't be with his real mother, but his real mother's sick. Someone needs to take care of him."

She frowns. "I'm not gonna live here."

"What would his future have been? Taking you to chemo and back on the bus… and even if the cancer's in complete remission, he'll still have a mother who hears voices."

"Talk no more, talk… no more" She whimpers.

""Look what I do to him, limpie." You said that. I checked the phone records – only one call from this room. Smart – they charge you two bucks a call. It was to Social Services of the State of New Jersey. You're his mother, couldn't do it to him anymore. Good for you."

Later, it is past six o'clock. House and Wilson are coming out of House's office. They have their jackets on and are walking down the hall.

"Schizophrenics can make rational decisions."

"On the small stuff, yeah, when to sleep, what to drink, no lemonade but I'll take some hemlock if you've got it."

Wilson smirks. "Your man Socrates."

"But giving up your son, because it's better for him – it's so sane, so rational. Self-sacrifice is not a symptom of schizophrenia… it excludes the diagnosis."

Wilson's jaw holds open. "She's not schizophrenic?"

"She's thirty-six-years-old when she first presents…"

"It's a little late, but within the parameters."

"The internist sends her to a shrink, one shrink sends her to the next, she tells them all she's not crazy, the drugs don't work and why would they if she's not a head case? She got clearer when I took her off the psych meds." They pause at House's office door. "You think _I'm_ crazy." 

"Well, yeah, but that's not the problem. Didn't we just leave your office?"

"I like to walk."

House grabs a bottle of Scotch and Luke's notebook from a desk drawer. The teens then share an elevator ride and check out at the lobby. They separate once they reach the parking lot; each going to their own cars to go to their own homes. House climbs up to his third floor apartment and decides to play a little music. It is half an hour till midnight and House is playing something classical on his baby grand piano. As he finishes that piece, taps out "happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you." He then takes a few steps to collapse on the couch. He takes another drink of the Scotch and flips through some pages of Luke's notebook. With something itching his mind, he picks up his phone and dials.

"Is that Dr. Jeffrey Walters?"

"Y-yes." The person on the other end yawns. "Who is this?"

"Hi. My name is Greg House, I'm a doctor…"

"Dr. House, it is almost midnight."

"Oh, is that the time? Yeah, I'm sorry, my watch must have stopped."

"Mm-hmm. Okay, what do you need, Dr. House?"

"Listen, you treated a patient about eighteen months ago, a woman named Lucille Palmeiro, I wondered if you recalled running any tests…" The other doctor hangs up. "… at all?" 

He rolls his eyes, noting the unprofessionalism. He looks at the notebook again, and then gathers his things. He leaves his apartment. While waiting at a red light, he pages the ducklings and Wilson to meet him in his office as soon as possible. Well, he basically threatens them with the pages. Foreman just leaves through the front door, no questions asked. Chase and Cameron resort to sneaking out. Wilson also leaves through the front door, paying no mind to the shadows lurking behind the living room window of what used to be his home. Eventually, they're all crowded in House's office, with the latter pacing.

"I have a headache. It's my only symptom. I go to see three doctors. The neurologist tells me it's an aneurysm, the immunologist says I got hay fever, the intensivist… can't be bothered, sends me to a shrink, who tells me that I'm punishing myself 'cause I wanna sleep with my mommy."

"Maybe you're just not getting enough sleep." Foreman blinks.

"Pick your specialist, you pick your disease. If it's not schizophrenia, what else presents with psych symptoms?"

"Porphyria." Cameron yawns.

"The madness of King George." Chase yawns in suit.

"What about that copper thing? What's it called? It's genetic – the body accumulates too much copper." Wilson is barely awake.

"Oh, uh, Wilson's disease?" Chase guesses.

House bites back an insult with a smirk. "Very rare. Nice. I like it." 

Foreman looks at him. "If any of us did this, you'd fire us."

"Well, that's funny, I thought I encouraged you to question…"

"You're not questioning, you're hoping, you want it to be Wilson's, boom! Give her a couple of drugs, she's okay!"

"July seventeenth, she had an appointment with a Dr. Carne."

"She didn't keep it." Cameron remembers. "She never kept another appointment with a shrink he made after that."

"Carne is not a shrink. I looked him up. He's an ophthalmologist. Now why would she want her eyes checked?" 

"Wilson's presents with cataracts, I think."

"Yes, it does. It also causes slight cirrhosis, which Dr. Chase so eagerly attributed to alcohol." He looks at them all. "So what are we still doing here?" 

The ducklings leap up to work on the diagnosis. House stands as Wilson promptly falls asleep. House turns off the lights and heads back to Lucy's room.

"Lucy!" He shouts and she snaps awake. "I don't think you're crazy."

"Neither do I," Chase and Foreman come in, and help sit her up in bed. "But I'm crazy…"

"Come on." They get her up, and move an eye scope around to the side of her bed.

"Put your hands on the bar, and your chin in here." Chase instructs and she obliges. "Thank you."

"You're gonna see a bright light, OK? Your body might be accumulating too much copper. If it is, this should help us see something called Kaiser-Fleischer rings, copper-colored circles around your corneas." He twiddles knobs at the controls, which brings the view into focus. There is a copper ring around her cornea. He turns to the other doctors. "I guess we should start treating her for Wilson's."

"It's what I'd do." 

She's put on the treatment. Chase helps House walk Wilson to his own office, to lie down on the couch. The other teenagers camp out in House's office – with House taking his lounge chair. They wake around ten, due to Cuddy. She lets them know that Lucy is about to be discharged. The ducklings plus House get up and join Cuddy in the woman's room. She's dressed, wearing reading glasses and reading from the Yeats book.

Noticing the swarm of doctors headed her way, she finishes up aloud. ""For in the old days, though she had young men's praise and old men's blame, among the poor, both old and young gave her praise.""

She then takes off her glasses and sighs contently. Chase is first inside.

"Hi, Mrs. Palmeiro, ready to go home?"

"Almost." She smiles.

The social worker returns, without the man in the suit. Luke runs in, giving his mom a big hug. House catches Wilson's attention with his eyes and they retreat toward the elevator in silence.

"Mom? How are you?" He asks once he pulls away. 

"I'm good." She laughs with tears in her eyes. "Oh, oh, oh, you really need a haircut."

Minutes later, Luke is pushing Lucy in a wheelchair with an aide alongside. The doors open, but Luke stops upon seeing House and Wilson.

"Dr. House!" She exclaims. "Luke, you're making Dr. House wait!"

"That's OK, we're just here for the music."

"Luke, come on." They all get in, and the doors close. She looks up to House excitedly. "I'm being discharged."

"I heard a rumor."

"Thank God I had cancer, huh? It's terrible having everybody think you're nuts…"

"Really?" He questions, sneaking a glance back to smirking Wilson.

"I called to thank you, did you get my message?"

"Yes. You're welcome."

"Luke resentfully glares at him. "I'm never thanking you. You turned me in. I told you we were doing OK, it was none of your business."

Lucy looks uncomfortable, and House notices. "Look. I don't care how you were living. I just wanted you out of _my_ life. That's why I had Dr. Cuddy call Social Services." 

House looks at Wilson, then at Luke. Luke takes it for an answer. Lucy stares straight ahead. The door opens, they wheel out. House and Wilson stand watching them go.

"You okay?"

"You were right. It wasn't the DVT. It was the schizophrenia."

"I know."

"She's not nearly as interesting any more."

Wilson shrugs. "Lunch?"

"If you're buying." House chuckles, but he's already turning toward the cafeteria.

Wilson's laugh matches House's. "When am I not?"

 **And there we have yet another chapter of House, MD.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Yasss, beyotch. I have returneth. I bring you 1.07 – Fidelity. Thank you to everyone who is sticking by to read these. I am participating in a psychological field study today. They keep me anonymous and it seems interesting. I have got 338 views on this fanfiction. It makes me giddy! On with the House!**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

House and Cameron are talking in the PPTH Lobby, where she's found a case for them to take. All she needs to do is convince House how abnormal it is.

"She's been averaging eighteen hours of sleep a day since her admission."

"Clinical depression. Incredibly contagious. Every time I'm around one of them I get blue."

"It's _not_ clinical depression."

"Great, you got it all figured out. You don't need me."

She moves to block his path, but he sidesteps her, walking to the elevator. "Three ER doctors, two neurologists and a radiologist have all figured out what its not, we need to figure out what it _is_."

"Well maybe if above-mentioned doctors were interested in my opinion they would have asked for it."

"None of them are willing to subject themselves to you."

House grimaces. "No pain no gain." He flips through the file uninterestedly as he gets in the elevator. She walks in after.

"The blood work showed no signs of inflammation, and no one can figure out what's actually the cause of—"

"Huh."

Her eyes widen. "What?"

"Husband described her as being unusually irritable recently."

Cameron presses. "And?"

"I didn't know it was possible for a woman to be "unusually" irritable." The elevator dings, and they get off.

"Nice try, but you're a misanthrope, not a misogynist." She remarks, walking behind him as they head down the hall toward his office.

"What's the first thing you ask a doctor who's referring a patient?"

"Are you questioning my ability to take a history?" She sounds offended, but House just stares at her. Instantly, she becomes flustered. ""What's the primary"—"

"Not "what?"." House shakes his head. ""Why?""

"Diseases don't have motives."

"No, but doctors do. Why this patient, what interests you? Give me the full chart."

"Why?"

"I find your interest interesting."

In the office, the ducklings wait. Cameron trails behind House, taking a seat as he begins to write on the white board.

"She's irritable, sleeping eighteen hours a day."

"What's interesting about that?" Foreman demands. "Hypersomnia is usually accompanied by irritability in depressed patients."

"True, but not relevant. She's not depressed."

"Hello! She's sleeping eighteen hours a day!"

"Fever. Clinical depression does not cause fever."

"She could be sick and depressed?"

House glares but speaks sarcastically. "She's sick! Dammit, why didn't I think of that?"

Foreman slinks back, allowing Cameron to take the reins. "Elevated SED rate indicates inflammation."

Chase looks up. "Hypersomnia and personality changes point toward the brain."

"Not the spleen. Thank goodness we hired a neurologist! Brain symptoms… hmm, could this be a brain problem?"

Cameron's face says no. "No other systemic signs of inflammation, probably not vasculitis."

Chase has another set of ideas. "What about parasites? Malaria, chagas?"

Cameron frowns. "Patient's never been outside the United States, especially the tropics."

"You mean she _claims_ she's never been outside the U.S."

"Very good." House exclaims proudly.

Cameron shakes her head again. "Doesn't matter, blood and c-sub smears show no sign of parasites."

"Has to be a tumor then."

Foreman speaks again. "A tumor sitting directly on top of the brain stem? That three ER doctors, two neurologists, and a radiologist missed?"

"Partridge in a pear tree missed it too. Redo the blood work and get a new MRI with 2 millimeter cuts through the mesodiencephalic." House leaves the office, but calls out as he does so. "And check for evil stepmothers. This much sleep usually indicates poisoned apples."

House reluctantly heads for exam room one, needing to focus on something other than the case while the ducklings work. A nice-looking woman in her early twenties is sat on the bed. Looking down at her chart, he begins to speak.

"Anything else beside the shortness of breath, Mrs. Campbell?"

"Kate. Not really, its actually just kind of a tightness."

"You smoke?"

"No, never."

"Exercise?"

"Eight hours a day." House is amazed, and she explains. "I teach preschool."

"Sounds fun. Any history of heart disease in your family?"

Kate thinks a bit. "Not that I know of."

House pulls out a stethoscope. "Take a deep breath. Been under a lot of stress lately?"

"None more than usual."

"You're probably just a little anemic, but I'm going to do an EKG just to make sure."

Mrs. Campbell indicates her hospital gown. "Do I need to take this off?"

"No, you can just pull that down in front."

She does so. He turns around to see that she is very well endowed. He's unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

"Good. Lord. Are those real?"

She opens her mouth, then titlts her head. "Do they look real?"

"They look… pretty damn good."

"They were a present for my husband's thirtieth . I figured he'd enjoy them more than a sweater."

"That's so sweet. I'm afraid the cause of your problem could be staring us right in the face. Actually I guess I'm the one doing the staring. Of course I can't be sure, I'd like to consult a colleague. He's actually somewhat of an expert in these matters." He picks up the phone "Can I get a page on Dr. Wilson?"

Back in Elise's Room, Ed is talking with the doctors.

"A tumor?"

"We don't know, we're checking just to be safe." Foreman answers.

"They already checked for that."

"The previous MRI had a broader view."

Cameron tries to make it better. "Some tumors are almost impossible to see unless we know exactly where to look."

Elise speaks up from her bed. "That means it would be small, right?"

"Yes."

"So you'd be able to operate?" Ed looks to Cameron hopefully. "Take it out?"

Foreman answers for her. "If it is a tumor, there are a variety of treatment options, but there are variables other than just size."

Ed smiles sadly to Elise. "Don't worry…"

"Too late."

Foreman and Cameron prepare Elise for the MRI. Meanwhile, Wilson and House have just emerged from exam room one back in the clinic. House has a leer on his face, and Wilson simply has slightly widened eyes. He speaks first.

"Well. That's what breasts look like."

"Is a lie a lie if everybody knows it's a lie?"

"Well, if a tree pretends to fall in a forest… House, come on, they're breasts. They're a birthday present, not a philosophical treatise."

House shkes his head. "Lie number one, she did not do that for her husband, she did that for herself. She thinks if she looks different, she'll be different."

"No, she thinks if she looks different, she'll be more attractive, which, I have to say…"

"Not to her husband. Cosmetic surgery is so that everyone else will look at us differently. Same reason you're wearing that tie."

Wilson flushed for a nanosecond. "Well exactly, that was going to be my next point."

"Last three months, same five ties. Thursday should be that paisley thing."

 _Wait. He's paying that much attention to my ties? Down to the days? I know I shouldn't be surprised. Of course, I shouldn't be anything. He's my friend and I'm one of his very few friends. I should just take it and keep going._ Wilson sighs. "It's a gift from my fiancé."

House snaps back quickly. "No its not. Julie hates green. You bought that yourself. You want to look pretty. At work." His voice raises pitch to singsong. "Wilson's got a girlfriend…"

Wilson raises his arms in alarm. "Stop! Stop. I don't."

Somehow thankfully yer not, Cuddy rounds the corner. "It takes _two_ department heads to treat shortness of breath? What, do the complications increase exponentially with cup size?"

House immediately snaps to _doctor_ mode. "I want an EKG and blood tests including tox screen on Mrs.… Exam Room 1."

Cuddy rolls her eyes. "You're ordering tests to cover your lechery. Interesting."

"Very tricky case." He remarks, and then he turns back to address Wilson. "You love everybody. That's your pathology."

In Elise's Room, the doctors are back with results. Foreman takes lead.

"There were no lesions and no mass effect that we could see."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're still not sure what's causing your neurological problems."

"I know some thing are hard to cure, but what I just don't get is why it's taking so long to figure out what's wrong with her."

Cameron gently speaks. "I know you're scared, I would be too."

Elise suddenly bends over. "I don't feel good…"

Foreman's head snaps up. "You feeling nauseous?"

Ed is at her side. "Honey? You all right?"

Elise's throat tenses rather quickly, as a preamble to her spasms. Cameron gangs up to her bed in an instant.

"She's seizing! Get her on her side. I need some Ativan!"

Ed looks horrified. "What's happening?"

"She's having a seizure."

Foreman cuts of the chitchat. "She's aspirating, suction!"

"Come on Elise!"

They manage to bring her back. An hour within, she's given a sort of test to assess any brain damage. It seems she's unable to draw circles. The team regroups in the differential office.

Wilson has a hand behind his neck. "The MRI reveals nothing."

Foreman huffs. "That we were able to detect."

"It's not a tumor."

"A small glioma could hide from contrast. We could do a PET scan."

House cuts in. "Yes, that's how a responsible doctor would waste his time in the situation."

"Suddenly tests and radiologists aren't capable of error?"

"A glioma not presenting on a contrast MRI would have to be smaller than a grain of sand, which does not a gravely ill person make."

Chase jumps in at the chance. "It could be just postictal disorientation."

Cameron decides to be part of the conversation as well. "We would have seen improvement by now."

Chase shrugs. "Late stage Lyme Disease can cause seizures."

"Does the husband care about her?"

Cameron nods. "He hasn't left her bedside."

"No way… it also means she doesn't have Lyme Disease."

Foreman scoffs. "What? Love conquers all?"

"Lyme Disease initially presents with a rash. Mr. Clingy would have noticed."

"We've looked at everything else."

Wilson arches an eyebrow. "Did you look at her breasts?" Ignoring House's scoff, he continues. "Could be paraneoplastic."

This gains House's attention. "She have any family history of breast cancer?"

Cameron pulls up a paper. "Her mother died of it."

House turns to speak to Foreman. "The brain, but not the brain. Clever, huh?"

In the hall outside of Elise's room, Ed talks with the doctors.

"How can breast cancer cause problems in her brain?"

Cameron dives in. "There are molecular similarities between brain cells and tumor cells. Paraneoplastic Syndrome causes the body's own antibodies to get thrown off track. They end up attacking the brain instead of the tumor."

"So if you do find the tumor, what do you do?"

Foreman explains, "We treat the underlying malignancy. Once there's no tumor to attack, there's nothing for the antibodies to get confused about."

"If the tumor's treatable."

"Exactly."

A few hours later, Elise is getting a mammogram, as well as a few other tests run.

"OW!" She screams in pain.

Cameron attempts to console her. "I'm sorry, I know it's uncomfortable. The tighter we go, the better the image will be."

"Least it'll keep me awake."

"Don't worry, it's almost over."

Elise sighs. "I wish people would stop telling me not to worry."

"I'm sorry."

"My mom was the same age. We've been trying to get pregnant for over a year. I guess we're lucky we didn't."

"A lot has changed since your mom died. Don't worr" She catches herself. "Don't give up."

After a couple more hours, the group convenes in House's office. House is in his chair, Wilson in the chair. Foreman and Cameron stand; Chase is leaning against House's desk.

"No tumor?" He asks, setting his oversized tennis ball down.

"The MRI and mammogram only showed a few benign calcifications." Foreman shakes his head.

"It's most likely a small cell tumor, its no surprise we're having trouble finding it." Cameron sighs in defeat. "We should do a PET scan. Start with her lungs, and maybe her bones… Sometimes it presents with no tumor at all."

"How can a disease caused by a tumor present if there's no tumor?" Chase turns around.

"It happens." Wilson sets his palms on his knees. "Twelve percent of cases."

Chase turns around again. "And how do you treat it if there's no tumor?"

"You don't." House responds. "Those twelve percent, no treatment. They were too busy looking for the tumor, right till they put the patient in the ground."

Foreman arches an eyebrow. "What choice do we have?"

"Treat the symptoms. IV Immunoglobulin."

"So we're just going to ignore the tumor?"

"Eventually it'll get bigger. Then it'll be really easy to find. One of you needs to check out where she works."

Chase pops up. "Why?"

"Cause the husband's not sick."

"Meaning?"

Wilson clues him in. "If it's not paraneoplastic and it is a reaction to some sort of toxin, it's obviously not coming from their home."

"Foreman, you do it."

The group disperses again. House and Foreman take to the elevator – the former to the clinic and the latter to the workplace. They ride in silence. When they finally get off at the lobby, Foreman breaks the silence in irritation.

"Why are you riding me?"

House frowns. "It's what I do… has it gotten worse lately?"

"Yeah. Seems to me."

"Really. Well that rules out the race thing. Cause you were just as black last week."

House ends the conversation there, walking into the clinic. Foreman groans and heads out to the kitchen where Elise works. It's only a twenty-minute drive, and Foreman spends it listening to music to calm down. When he finally arrives, he finds her boss, Jacques, and begins asking the important questions.

"How long has Elise worked here?"

"Three years, she's my best rotisseur."

Foreman makes a face. "What's that?"

"The rotisseur prepares the roasted meats and gravies." Jacques explains.

"How do you clean your grill?"

"A la force du poignet." He taps his chin. "They say elbow grease."

"Do you use chemical cleaners?"

"Ah, no." The head chef shakes his head adamantly. "Absolutely no, our chefs don't do the cleaning, anyway."

"What about pesticides? You must spray for roaches and that sort of thing?"

"Nope, my kitchen is clean. No roaches."

A nearby assistant shrieks in alarm, overhearing a few words in the conversation. "Des cafards? Où? (as to say 'Roaches? Where?')."

"Non, allez au travail!" The man admonishes the rumors, and then he turns back to the teen doctor. "I need to get back to work."

"And the fact that I'm here asking you these questions, it doesn't worry you?" Foreman asks, eying a rabbit on a cutting board in his peripheral vision.

Jacques scoffs. "Look at me. I'm here eighteen hours a day. That guy practically lives here, he does live here… I use the same detergents for fifteen years and everyone is healthy as a horse. Whatever Elise has she didn't get here. Tell her I hope she feels better, and I had to get a new rotisseur."

Meanwhile, in Elise's Room, Cameron is staying with her.

"Where's Ed?" The patient asks, waking up.

"He went down to the gift shop to buy a shirt. I told him I'd stay up here in case you woke up."

"You must have better things to do."

"I send my laundry out."

"You're not married?"

Cameron's response is curt. "No." _I'm only fourteen. Do I look older or something? I mean, I want to look older so people will respect me, but I don't want to look so old that people will think I need to be married._

"Waiting for the perfect guy?" Elise questions fondly.

Cameron smiles. "Let me guess. You've already found him."

She nods. "He threw my towels out the window."

"What?" Cameron laughs.

Elise shrugs. "It's how we met. Freshman year, he came to a party my roommate and I threw. He spent most of the night on the bathroom floor. He figured I wouldn't notice vomit on the towels if I didn't have any towels."

Cameron chuckles. "I'm assuming he came back the next day to apologize?"

"No way. We had to track him down." Elise shakes her head in amusement. "Conflict resolution has never been one of Ed's strong points. Nobody's perfect, right?"

"I guess."

Elise shifts in her bed and bites back a groan. "Oh my neck hurts."

Cameron adjusts the pillow. "You've been in this bed for a really long time. We're gonna do the same test we did last night, ok? Do you know what day it is?"

Elise doesn't hear the question, distractedly scratching her arm. "My arm itches."

Cameron frowns. "Its probably just a mild skin irritation, I'll get you some hydrocortisone in a minute. Do you know what day it is?"

Elise keeps scratching. "Tuesday. It _really_ itches."

"I'm gonna get you that cream right now."

Elise scratches and stares in horror as lots and lots of bugs burst out of a boil in her arm.

Elise keeps scratching and begins screaming bloody murder. "Oh my God! Get them off! Someone! Get them off of me!"

Cameron's voice is hitched as she desperately tries to control the spasming, hallucinating woman. Chase and a few nurses rush in as well. "Elise calm down… I need some Haldol, 5 milligrams. There's nothing there, Elise. There's nothing there!"

Foreman has arrived back just as his pager goes off. He heads for the elevator, holding it as House comes down the hallway. When the two step off, Chase confronts House. Foreman moves on to the office.

"We had to sedate her." Chase informs House.

"You gave sedatives to a patient who's already sleeping eighteen hours a day?"

"It was better than letting her scratch all the skin off her arms."

House shakes his head in mild irritation. "Where's Wilson?"

Everyone once again regroups in House's office. It's already four o'clock in the afternoon.

Wilson speaks first. "Creepy-crawlies are consistent with paraneoplastic syndrome."

Cameron shakes her head. "Onset immediately after IVIG isn't."

House holds up a hand. "There is a simple explanation. Maybe she really has bugs under her skin."

"Infection?" Chase guesses.

"That's what the worsening of symptoms after immunotherapy would suggest." House says.

Foreman drums his fingers along the wall. "Blood cultures and the timeline rule out most bacteria."

House groans. "If a patient throws up on your shoes do you clean up "most" of it?"

"The symptoms rule out the rest. Serology rules out viruses, CSS smears rule out parasites."

"In the final stage of African Trypanosomiasis almost all the parasites are inside the brain. It's possible they wouldn't show on smears."

"But it's not possible for a patient who's never been to Africa to have African Sleeping Sickness."

"I'm just saying it fits the symptoms."

Wilson breaks up the dialogue between the two. "She could have got it from a transfusion."

"Which she never had." Cameron points out.

House glares at her. "Okay…"

Unbothered, Wilson spouts out something else. "What about toxins?"

Foreman cuts back in. "No, the kitchen she works in is cleaner than some hospitals. But they do serve rabbit. Rabbit Fever fits her symptoms."

Chase pipes up. "Tularemia initially presents with a rash or ulcer near the infection site."

"Not if she inhaled it. Chopping the meat with a cleaver could easily aerosolize the bacteria."

Cameron doesn't like the idea. "No, then she'd have respiratory symptoms."

Foreman shrugs it off. "Maybe she ignored it, figured she had a cold."

House tilts his head. "We rejected Lyme Disease because the couple would have noticed a rash, but a wet hacking cough is just going to slip right by?"

Foreman frowns. "Hey, it's either that or she missed her exit on the turnpike and wound up in Africa."

House slowly exhales. "Two lousy ideas. Unfortunately they're better than all the other ideas. Tularemia. Bizarre. Very nice. That's why I ride you."

This ends the conversation. House goes into his own office, turning on the television. He collects his tennis ball from the desk and proceeds to lower himself to the floor. Cameron stares at him in confusion, looking over to House's best friend.

"Did he just turn on the TV?"

Wilson shrugs, following the others out. "He needs to think."

With Wilson back in his office and the ducklings in the lab, House turns the TV off. He instead of opts for his mp3 player and starts listening to the music as he closes his eyes and reviews the case in his mind. In the lab, Chase is impatient about getting the results.

"So this should tell us whether or not she's got rabbit fever?"

Cameron nods slightly. "For a diagnosis of Tularemia you need a four-fold increase in serum antibody levels. To measure an increase you need a before, all we have is an after."

"A single titer over 160 would be a big clue."

Foreman is still stuck on what House said to him earlier. ""That's why I ride you." What does that mean? Even when I have a good idea it's because of him?"

Chase smirks. "Actually I think he said your idea was a lousy idea."

Cameron ignores Chase. "It has to be one of these two conditions. I say we take our best guess and just start treatment. Or treat both."

Chase switches back to Professional Doctor Mode. "The treatment for Tularemia can cause aplastic anemia."

"How come he doesn't ride you guys?"

Chase playfully shoves him. "He's got a crush on you. He just doesn't know how to show it."

Cameron smiles. "Get over it, he rides everybody."

Chase nods, sobering up. "And the treatment for sleeping sickness kills one in ten patients."

Cameron nods as well. "So we start with the safer treatment."

Foreman sighs. "By "safer" you mean the one that's slightly less likely to kill her?"

In House's office, the teen notices extra vibrations on the floor. He opens an eye to catch Wilson sitting in the chair, bouncing the tennis ball absentmindedly. House sits up, taking the earbuds out, and looks at his friend. Wilson catches the ball as House begins to talk.

"Foreman got the gang testing for Tularemia?"

"Yep."

"Probably inconclusive, but worth doing." His professional mode switches to the leering mode. "So what's her name? When do I get to meet her?"

Wilson rolls his eyes. "There's nobody. Give it up."

"Your lips say no, your shoes say yes."

 _My lips say no? Why phrase it like that?_ Wilson moves the tennis ball to his lap. "Well they're French. You can't trust a word they say."

House nods with a smirk. "Solid, yet stylish. A professional woman would be impressed. I'm thinking accountant, actuary, maybe. It's somebody in the hospital. Patient? No, chemo's not sexy. Daughter of the patient? She would certainly have the neediness you need."

Wilson recoils. "I'm not gonna date a patient's daughter."

 _Could've just stuck with 'i'm not dating anyone.' Obviously, he wants out of this relationship. Fiance Julie must not be putting out._ House smirks. "Very ethical. Of course, most engaged men would say they don't date at all."

"There was no date!" His façade crumbles at House's glare. "I had lunch with one of the nurses. It's her first time in an oncology unit and she's having a tough time, emotionally."

 _So he is dating someone. Another person I'll have to share Wilson with._ "Perfect."

 _Why do I feel like he's making such a big deal out of this?_ Wilson frowns. "I wanted to be nice. That's all. I mean it."

 _I really want this to just be a one-time thing. Not that Wilson doesn't deserve happiness. He does. It's just…_ House smirks. "You always do. It's part of your charm."

Cuddy enters the room them, breaking up the friends' conversation. "Hi boys. Mrs. Campbell's test results." Their faces remain blank as she preses on. "Oh, you remember her, the preschool teacher with the heart of silicon."

House shakes his head. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

Cuddy scoffs. "They came in yesterday, I figured you guys would have been all over them. I know how concerned you are."

House faces Wilson. "She's all upset because we paid more attention to the other girl. You check out her ass, I've got the chest."

Cuddy rolls her eyes. "The tests were normal. Course that's just my opinion, you may want to call a couple of guys from maintenance in for a consult."

House looks over to Wilson. "You check her EKG results before she left the other day?"

Wilson holds up his hands. " _You_ ordered it."

House shoots him a mock glare. " _You're_ the responsible one."

Cuddy frowns, looking at the test. "What's wrong? They look normal to me."

House jumps up and aims his question for Cuddy. "Where is she?"

Cuddy is puzzled. "Waiting downstairs, why?"

"I was right."

House impatiently rides the elevator to the lobby and hobbles directly into exam room one. Kate Campbell is sitting on the bed, fiddling nervously with her shirt hem. When she recognizes the teen doctor coming in, she starts up without preamble.

"Do I have to get rid of the implants?"

"Surprisingly, no. But your EKG shows a slightly decreased heart rate."

"Is that a problem?"

"You told me you hadn't changed your diet or exercise. Were you lying?"

Kate balks at him. " _Lying_?"

"Does your husband have high blood pressure?"

"My husband?"

House sighs. "Yeah.. see, if you're gonna repeat everything I say this conversation is gonna take twice as long."

She looks a bit apprehensive but answers anyway. "Yes, he was diagnosed six months ago…"

"He do a lot of cooking at home?"

"Not really, other than oatmeal in the morning."

"Did you happen to notice a slightly odd taste to the oatmeal lately?"

"Wait, are you saying that—"

"That it looks like your husband stirred in some of his blood pressure medication along with brown sugar."

Kate nearly shrieks at the possibility, "You think my husbands trying to poison me?!"

"No, nothing like that. He just doesn't want to have sex with you." Kate looks stunned and House keeps up. "Decreased sex drive is one of the most common side effects of the beta blockers he's been taking. I'm guessing he figured if you're both frigid, no harm no foul. You should have gotten him the sweater."

"That's ridiculous."

"Fine. But if you're still concerned about the shortness of breath, I'd start making your own breakfast." He opens the door to leave.

"Wait!" Kate's scream pulls him back. "What should I do?"

"Well, if you care about your husband at all, I'd do the responsible thing: buy yourself some condoms, go to a bar, find…" He trails off, just realizing something about his actual patient.

He leaves the room and the clinic as a whole, racing as fast as he can. He hobbles to the lift and rides it up to the lab's level. He hears a paper rpinting just as he walks in. His minions are working and Cameron grabs the paper from the machine.

"Lab tests inconclusive?"

Cameron is barely startled. "Not surprisingly."

"No. Too bad. Luckily, I have the answer."

Chase looks up. "To what?"

"Thanks for asking. The life itself. Sex. Anything that can be transmitted via the blood can be transmitted through sex."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "Sleeping sickness from sex?"

"It's not without precedent."

"I'm pretty sure it is. Unless you're talking about going to Africa and having sex with the tse tse fly."

House brandishes a magzine written in another language. "A Portuguese man was diagnosed three years ago with CNS affected sleeping sickness. His only connection with Africa was through a girlfriend who served under the military in Angola."

Chase glances over. "Oi, where'd you find that"

"The Journal de Instituto de Higiene e Medicina Tropical. You don't read Portuguese?"

Cameron is shocked. "You do?"

Sarcastically, House answers. "I'm pretty sure that's what it said. Either that or it was an ad for sunglasses."

"Her husband has never been to Africa either."

"Ooh, stymied again. Your logic is bulletproof."

Cameron purses her lips. "I think ignoring respiratory symptoms is more likely than cheating."

"Because?"

"They're completely devoted to each other."

"Because?"

"They love each other."

"Or?"

Chase catches the House-ism. "They're overcompensating for guilt."

House nods and turns to Cameron. "Find out which it is."

"You want me to ask a man whose wife is about to die if he cheated on her?"

"No, I want you to be polite and let her die." After Cameron gives him a look, he changes his mind. "Actually, I don't want you to ask her anything. Foreman take the husband, Chase take the wife."

After the younger boys head out to talk with them, Cameron and House are talking in the hall right outside the lab.

"You don't trust me to do my job?"

"We all formulate questions based on the answers we want to hear."

"And how exactly do you re-formulate "Have you screwed around?""

"Did you know she's been trying to get pregnant?"

"Yes."

"After you got so freaked about the sick babies a while ago I figured that was your thing. But you've never been prescribed folic acid, and you can't lose a baby if you've never been pregnant."

Cameron gapes. "You pulled my medical records?"

"You coughed the other day, I was concerned." House answers sardonically.

Cameron, on the other hand, is furious. "You were curious. Like an eight-year old boy with a puzzle that's just a little too grown-up for him to figure out."

"To- _may_ -to, to- _mah_ -to…" He rolls his eyes as she stalks off.

Foreman is sitting with Ed in the lobby, while Chase sits with Elise in her room. They need to get this out in the open.

Ed looks bewildered. "So… it's either sleeping sickness or this rabbit thing."

Foreman nods. "They're both fatal without treatment. And unfortunately the treatment for both is extremely dangerous."

Chase is asking the same questions to Elise, getting the same or similar answers. He says wife and she says husband, but they answer the same.

"Are there tests you can do?"

"Not at this stage. But each condition has a unique history. We're hoping your answers to a few questions will help us."

"Sure. Whatever you need to know."

"Before the sleeping problems, did you have any trouble breathing, a cough that wouldn't go away, anything like that?"

"No"

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely. I've never been away from her for more than a night, if she had breathing troubles, I would have noticed."

"The other condition is significantly more likely if… if you've had an affair."

"Have you ever had an affair?"

"Of course not."

"You sure?"

"I think I'd remember cheating on my wife."

"You might be reluctant to admit it—"

"No."

"I just want to be perfectly clear. If your wife has sleeping sickness and we don't treat her, she'll die."

"I would never do that to Ed. I love him."

"Absolutely not. I love her."

It's a quarter till six and House is packing up his stuff. Wilson, Cameron, Chase and Foreman watch expectantly as House passes around a cup of straws. Cameron picks the short one. At House's curt nod, she knows what it means.

"Alright then. They say no cheating, we cross off sleeping sickness. Any new ideas? Ok, we go with Foreman's Tularemia. Start her on IV-Chloramphenicol 25 milligrams per kilogram four times a day. Good night."

With that, everyone disperses. House walks with Wilson to the latter's office so Wilson can pick up his things. Foreman and Chase grab their things, heading down the stairs to get home early. House and Wilson finally meet up at the elevator. Cameron, on the other hand, spends the night alternating between reading through text, running idle tests, and watching the patient from a distance. She barely gets any sleep, but pushes herself to work on some schoolwork.

In the morning, in Elise's Room, Cameron is administering the necessary medicine.

"Where's Ed?" Elise wakes up sleepily.

Cameron smiles shyly. "Right next to you. Two down, two to go."

"Two days?"

"No, doses. You have about twenty more days of this fun."

Elise blinks. "What time is it?"

"About four a.m. I pulled the short straw." _Might as well tell her the truth no matter how stupid it sounds._ She checks the monitor. "Flow rate looks good. No rash or flushing…"

Elise somewhat incoherent, asking again. "What time is it?"

"Four a.m. Do you not remember just asking?"

"I don't know…"

"Elise…? Elise? Elise? Elise!" She starts gently shaking Elise.

"What are you doing?" Ed asks, waking up.

Cameron is shaking a little harder. "Trying to wake her."

"She fall asleep again?"

"In the middle of a sentence."

A nurse walks in with slight alarm written on her face. "What's happening?"

"Patient's not responding. Pulse is fine, airways open. Check her blood pressure." The nurse does so as Cameron shines a light in Elise's eye. "Pupils are reactive."

"Elise wake up. You gotta wake up." Ed is nearly hyperventilating, watching Cameron pinching Elise's finger. "What does that mean? What are you doing?"

"She's not responsive to pain. Come on Elise!"

Ed's voice breaks. "Is she dying?"

"I don't know." She looks at the monitor and comes to a shocking realization. "She's in a coma."

Hours later, a bit after eight-thirty, House and the ducklings are walking down the hall.

"There's only one way a Tularemia patient goes into a coma while on IV-Chloramphenicol."

Cameron faces House. "The patient doesn't have Tularemia."

"And then there was one. Patient comes in because she's sleeping too much. It takes ten doctors and a coma to diagnose sleeping sickness."

Foreman frowns. "And then there was none. We still have the problem of explaining how a white chick from Jersey who's never traveled south of D.C. has African sleeping sickness."

"Well, the obvious explanation?"

"I made it clear. If this guy's lying about sleeping around, he knows he's murdering his wife."

"Does seem unlikely… Go away."

Foreman huffs but leaves as House enters Elise's room. Immediately, House moves to Elise's bedside. He hooks his cane to the bedrail. He then lifts Elise's arms and drops them. They fall limply and he repeats as Ed appears in the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for lymphadenopathy. And waiting for you."

"Who are you?" He eyes the teen with distaste.

"I'm Dr. House. Your wife has human African Trypanosomiasis. Sleeping sickness."

"You mean its not Tularemia. A virus, tumor or- or cancer."

"Nope."

"I've never had an affair."

House scrutinizes him a bit. "I believe you."

"And I trust Elise."

"The treatment for this disease is a drug that's… fatal on its own ten percent of the time." He pauses, noticing that Ed looks rather scared. "Which is why I need your written consent before I can legally prescribe it."

"Why would she lie if she knew it could kill her?"

House shrugs. "I don't ask why patients lie, I just assume they all do."

"But why?"

"To protect you, because she didn't think it mattered. It just seemed easier because… that's what people do. Now, If you're absolutely certain that your wife has never had sex with anyone but you since you've been married, then I'm wrong. But if you think there's a possibility that just one time she wasn't perfect… one weekend you're out of town… one fight when she ran to a friend, one stupid Christmas party… then you need to allow me to start treatment. Because if we don't… she's gonna be dead by tomorrow morning. Do you trust your wife that much?"

Ed thinks it over. "I don't know…"

House nods. "I'll start the treatment."

In Elise's Room hours later, close to noon, Foreman and Chase walk in to see the comatose patient. Foreman sets down a heavy-looking briefcase. He then opens it to find three syringes.

"Glass syringes?" He speaks aloud.

"And special IV tubing." Chase nods.

"Why do we need this stuff?"

"Because Melarsoprol melts plastic. This stuff's supposedly arsenic mixed with antifreeze."

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, huh?"

"Nietzsche wouldn't have been so glib if he'd been prescribed Melarsoprol."

Foreman reads a warning tag. ""Can cause vomiting, abdominal pain, blood toxicity, neural damage, cardiac arrhythmia…"

"Forgot to say it's gonna hurt like all hell."

"She's lucky she's in a coma."

She's under surveillance watch for the next seven hours. Everyone has rotations: Nurse Abigail and Foreman, Chase and House, Wilson and Cameron… Meanwhile, House goes through his clinic hours. The ducklings go through their schoolwork. Wilson has his own patients.

Later that night, at seven o'clock, Cameron is with Ed. She's taking a solitary watch since most of the other doctors in the wing have gone home for the night.

"How long before we know its working?"

"It's tough to say. It's a good sign that she hasn't gotten any worse."

"Does she even know I'm here?"

"She knows you're always there for her."

"Yeah… if she gets better it means she wasn't always there for me."

"It means she made a mistake."

"I can't help it. Part of me, a big part of me… can't handle that. Doesn't want her to get better." As Cameron heads for the door, Ed has a double-take. "Does that make me a terrible person?"

Cameron is hesitant to reply. "Yes."

Meanwhile, the elevator dings. Wilson and House step off and make their way down the hall.

"So we're treating her for African sleeping sickness because you don't think it's possible for someone to be faithful in a relationship?"

"And you do?"

"Yes."

"And _you_ need to tell me that?"

"Look I'm not having an affair. I had lunch, with someone I work with, at work. Once."

"I believe you. What I don't believe is that it'll be just once."

"I love my fiance."

"You certainly love saying it." Wilson laughs in a very annoyed way and House holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I know you love your fiance. You loved all your girlfriends. Probably still do. In fact, you probably still love all the women you ever loved who weren't your girlfriends.

They stop just outside the lab, in an alcove.

"You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?" Wilson asks bitterly.

"Yeah. And you're the good guy."

"At least I try."

"As long as you're trying to be good, you can do whatever you want."

Wilson smirks. "And as long as you're not trying, you can say whatever you want."

"So between us, we can do anything. We can rule the world!"

They remain close like this, heads almost balancing on each other. Neither of them wants to move, but someone has to. Finally, Wilson sighs and leaves, House sees Cameron working solo in the lab. He enters.

"Mixing up some margaritas? Mines a double, Senorita. That's Portuguese, you know."

Quietly, and with a hint of tears, she corrects him. "Spanish."

"Uh-oh. What's going on?"

"I'm re-calibrating the centrifuge."

"Turn around." He orders and she complies. Her eyes are puffy as though she'd been crying a long time. "It's a very sad thing, an un-calibrated centrifuge. It makes me cry too."

"I'm not crying." She weakly defends.

"Okay."

After a long pause, Cameron speaks again. "I told the husband he was a jerk."

"Why?"

She hesitates. "Last year, I… I fell in love abroad… where the age limits are different, and I got married. And…"

"At that age the chances of a marriage lasting—"

"It lasted six months. Thyroid cancer metastasized to his brain. There was nothing they could do. I was thirteen-turn-fourteen, and… I watched my husband die."

"I'm sorry... But that's not the whole story. It's a symptom, not your illness. Thyroid cancer would have been diagnosed at least a year before his death, you knew he was dying when you married him. Must have been when you first met him. And you married him anyway. You can't be that good a person and well adjusted."

"Why?"

"Because you wind up crying over centrifuges."

She sniffles. "Or hating people."

House's pager beeps. He hands it to Cameron, and they leave.

"Fever spiked at 104. Echo shows global hyperkinesis." Chase alerts them.

"Blood pressure?" House demands.

"Barely 90 over 40."

"You give her dopamine?"

"Started 270 micrograms per minute ten minutes ago, still no change."

The three enter Elise's room and look hopefully at Foreman, who is shaking his head.

Chase swears inwardly. "Killing her parasites isn't gonna do much good if we kill her heart at the same time."

"A heart can be replaced, a brain can't." Cameron remarks.

"Right now were killing both. If she's gonna die, we should at least let her do it without that acid flowing through her veins."

Ed enters behind them. "What's happening?"

House groans. "We would have expected your wife's condition to show some improvement by now, but it hasn't. It's going the other way."

Ed takes Elise's hand, stifling a sob. "Please don't die… please don't die…"

Elise's heart rate climb, and her hand moves.

"She's awake!" Ed cries.

Twenty minutes later, Ed is talking to Elise in her room. Outside, Cameron looks through the glass window. Foreman walks over.

"Hey. She's gonna be okay."

"Yeah, sure." Ed leaves the room with his suitcase. Inside, Elise starts to cry. Cameron catches up to Ed. "What are you gonna do? Were you always honest with her? Do you know how lucky you are? Your wife is alive, she loves you!"

"What she did… you can't love a person and do that to them."

"She _loves_ you."

Despite her words, Ed leaves. House later enters Elise's room.

"I need to know who you had the affair with. He has to be notified so he can get treatment as well. Why did you lie to us? You knew your life was at stake."

"He's not coming back, is he?"

"We all make mistakes, and we all pay a price. I need that name."

Cameron feels the need for repentance, so house gives her the name and allows her to run him down as everyone else goes home. There, she finds a child in the driveway and another broken man who... may need her help.

 **Hi! I don't know what to say. Huh. I might have to come to school on Saturday or Sunday. If i finish another chapter by then, you may get another. :) Go figure.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Well, i said I'd try for Sunday. Lookie here! I have rejoiced with yet another House, MD rewrite. This time, it's 1.08 – Poison. I've come to realize they weren't so creative with their titles in the early season. I'm sitting here, eating pizza rolls and drinking orange crush, when I should be working on my script reading for my upcoming play at the theater. Alas! I only have five speaking parts, so this is taking over my time.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

It is nine-thirty a.m. on January fourteenth, and Foreman catches House in the hallway.

"The kid was just taking his AP calculus exam when all of a sudden he got nauseous and disoriented."

"That's the way calculus presents."

"Severe bradycardia. Heart rates down to 48 and falling fast."

"You know the kid?"

Something flashes behind Foreman's eyes. "No."

House decides not to observe. "Mom real good looking?"

"I didn't notice."

"Then it's a mystery. Not why he's sick, but why you care so much. The gift shop's open, buy him a card."

"He's not responding to atropine."

"Boys love fart jokes. Find him one with a good fart joke." He pauses to pop a Vicodin. "He's a teenager. It's drugs. Tell those ER geniuses to give him charcoal and naloxone so you'll stop following me."

"His tox screen was negative. He's still whacked out."

House stares back for a moment. "You don't care about the kid. You just find his illness "intriguing"."

"His CAT scan was clean. There's no sign of infection, and it's not diabetes."

House continues as though Foreman hadn't interrupted him. "And you don't care about him."

"That's what you wanna hear. Not in the slightest."

"Me neither." He taps the notes. "Means we'll be objective"

Inside of the office, House pulls out his clear board and starts writing. The ducklings are gathered around. Cameron develops a suggestion first.

"Maybe its shigellosis."

"Wouldn't account for the bradycardia."

Chase's turn. "Viral myocarditis?"

"Wouldn't account for the whacked out. So, what's the differential for the negative tox screen?"

Foreman sighs. "He was clean."

Cameron widens her eyes. "Unless someone screwed up the test."

House says sarcastically, "That never happens."

Chase's eyes light up. "Or he OD'd on something we didn't test for. 1,4-butenediol would give you these symptoms."

Foreman nods. "That's new."

"Copy machine toner. Same punch as GHB. A little pricier, way more dangerous. On the other hand, it is legal." He points his cane to Foreman. "I want you to go to his house and find his stash. Betcha know all the good hiding spots."

"Actually, I've never done drugs." He responds as he leaves.

House moves his cane to Cameron. "Better go with him, in case he gets high." When she gets up, the cane moves to Chase. "How much atropine is the kid getting?"

"One milligram"

"Make it two. In case he needs his heart later on."

Their patient is a fifteen-year-old named Matt. He's in his room, currently very out of it as Chase questions him.

"Matt, did you take any drugs this morning?"

Matt mutters incoherently before he answers, "Pencils down…"

Chase sticks his fingers in Matt's hands. "Can you squeeze my fingers for me?" When Matt doesn't move, he tries again. "Did anyone give you anything to help with the math test? Matt?"

Matt's mom has her arms folded, looking unnerved that a team of teenagers is treating her son. "I told you, he doesn't take drugs."

"Ms. Davis, all parents think that about their children. And they're usually wrong. I'm his age, I have off-time where I give my mum trouble, and I've turned out okay, even she thinks so."

Ms. Davis, Margo, frowns at this new information. "I know my kid. The fact that you do drugs sometimes doesn't mean he did. You're not on anything _now_ , are you?"

"No, ma'am. Did he go anywhere last night?"

"No, he was home studying."

"Any friends come over to help him?"

"And bring him drugs? Is that what your friends do? Or do you just steal from the hospital?" Her voice rises, getting accusatory.

"Ms. Davis…"

"Look. I tested him myself. The home kit. I took some hair off his brush… I didn't want him to know about it, because I do trust him."

"Then why did you test him?"

"All he did last night was study and argue about his college interviews. He wants to be himself. No haircut, ratty old clothes, that'll go over big. Then we both gave up and went to bed. That's it."

"Has he ever had any problems like this before? Any family history of…" The questioning is cut short as a machine to the side beeps. A nurse hurries in as Matt begins to shaking. Chase turns his attention to the nurse as he rolls Matt to his side. "Diazepam, 10 milliliters, stat."

"What's going on?" Margo asks.

"Just some precautions." Just then, Matt starts convulsing. Chase grabs him around the shoulder. "He's seizing."

More nurses rush in. Margo worries aloud as the machines are off-kilter. Chase orders the nurses to calm Matt down so he can administer the shot. Meanwhile, Cameron and Foreman have broken into Matt's home. They are now searching through his bedroom.

"This room is way too clean for a teenage boy." Cameron comments.

"You know why House thinks I'm a druggie?"

"This is gonna be a racial thing, isn't it?"

Foreman shakes his head. "Same reason he thinks this kid overdosed. When you're a drug addict, you want to think everyone else is, too."

"He's not addicted. He _has_ to take the drugs."

"The definition of addict."

Cameron defends him. "He's in pain—"

"And addicted to painkillers. What a coincidence."

"You've really never done any drugs?"

"Now _this_ is gonna be a racial thing."

"Deflecting a personal question with a joke. Gee, who do I know that does that?"

"Yeah, I'm just like him. Except for the angry, bitter, pompous, cripple part."

"Maybe we should all pitch in and get you a nice cane. You've already got the matching gym shoes." Foreman looks at his shoes, realizing they are worn-in Nikes. Cameron finds a jar in a cabinet. "Check this out! Mom's not too careful with the homemade tomato sauce. When the top sticks out like that it's a sign of bacterial contamination."

Foreman opens the fridge to find another jar. "This one's open."

An hour later, Foreman and Cameron are in the medical lab, testing the tomato sauce. House barges in, somewhat startling the duo.

"I am extremely disappointed. I send you out for exciting new designer drugs and you come back with tomato sauce. Betcha paid twice as much, I got mine online."

Foreman is undeterred. "Matt decided to make himself a homemade pizza for a bedtime snack."

Cameron is still busy, not looking up. "Source of botulism, as well as a million other toxins that cause gastroenteritis, cardiac symptoms, and mental confusion."

"I'm not sure about gastroenteritis but mental confusion? Bring it on!"

House grins as he grabs a stirring stick and eats some of the sauce. Cameron makes a disgusted noise and Foreman pulls a face. House, on the other hand, licks his lips at the taste.

"Delicious."

Cameron jumps up. "Do you have a death wish?"

"I notice _he_ didn't try to save me"

Foreman shrugs. "I figured you were trying to make some kind of subtle point."

"I was. Kid just started seizing. Not a symptom of food-born toxins."

"Also not a symptom of drug use either. Not two hours after admission"

"So what would make him seize… in addition to all his other delightful symptoms."

Cameron sighs. "Pesticide poisoning."

"Carbonates?"

House nods, taking in another taste of the sauce. "Or organophosphates. Organochlorines."

Cameron sits back. "Inhalation or absorption?"

Foreman copies her. "Too soon to tell."

"We should wash him down. The poison could still be on his skin."

House disposes of his stirring stick. "Already told the nurses."

Speaking of, the nurses are giving Matt a very hot shower, but he seems almost dead to the world. House hobbles out to work on some clinic hours. He moves into exam room one, where an elderly lady named Georgia smiles at him. A middle-aged man named Mark is leaning against the sink counter.

"I feel… good."

House wrinkles his nose. "That's your complaint? You major symptom?"

"I told her this was a waste of time."

Georgia keeps it up. "I notice colors more. And music. I- I'm really hearing music. I'm eighty-two, and I'm supposed to be playing canasta with the other old ladies, but… now when I see a guy with a cute butt… I just can't stop looking at him. Or a sexy beard."

House smirks a tad, absently running a hand over his stubble. "And you figure that enjoying cute butts is a sign of disease?"

"It all started a month ago, when Mark rented "Gone with the Wind" for me. But it had the wrong DVD in it."

"Oh, right I forgot this is all my fault-"

Georgia interrupts him. "Of course, he was too busy to bring it back-"

"Yeah, like I don't have a life-"

She interrupts him again. "So I watched it. And it had this actor in it. This kid called Ashton Kutcher. Now, I think about Ashton all the time. All the time."

"Aha."

"You remind me of him. Same bedroom eyes."

"People are always mixing us up."

Georgia begins unbuttoning her shirt. Mark looks away. "I suppose you'll need to check my heart?"

"No!" House reacts sharply. "No… that won't be necessary."

"I told you!" Mark sounds embarrassed.

"But I am going to admit you to the hospital for tests."

"What tests? She's just old!"

"And you're just insufferable. Your mother has had a sudden personality change, she should be checked out. I'll have a nurse come to admit her. I'm too handsome to do paperwork."

Back in Matt's room, Chase is talking with Margo while watching Matt's heart rate.

"He's been on this medication for over an hour."

Chase sighs. "Pralidoxime is very effective; it just takes a little time for it to kick in."

"Maybe you're wrong; maybe it's not a pesticide."

"The blood work was pretty conclusive. It's an organophosphate."

The monitor bleeps then, and Matt's heart rate starts to plummet. Margo is scared, as Chase hurries to the other side of the bed. The same nurses as before run into the room.

"Oh, my God…" Margo whimpers.

"Get back. Ms. Davis, move back, please." He faces a nurse. "We're at 30, ready cardiac arrest. Get me the pads."

"What are you doing?" Margo is anxious.

"We're going to beat his heart for him." He places the pads on Matt's chest, facing the nurse (Hannah). "Set it to sixty."

Hannah sets the machine as advised. Chase looks a bit baffled as he sets the charge. After compression, Matt's heart rate evens out. Chase, though somewhat breathless, looks relieved.

Thirty minutes later, the room is cleared out. Margo is crying by Matt's side, and Chase stands away while still reading the monitor charts.

"I can't stand this anymore…"

"We'll keep him on the pads for another hour."

"Then what?"

"Let's see what happens."

"Well, that's not my philosophy. Especially when it comes to my son." She sniffles. "And if something bad might happen, I'd like to know what our options are."

In the office an hour later, the team has regrouped. House is drumming his cane on the floor, sitting behind his desk. Foreman is standing to the side and Cameron is seated on the chair. Chase is pacing.

"The pralidoxime isn't doing him any good, we're going to have to wire his heart."

Cameron suggests, "Maybe we're wrong about the pesticides."

Foreman shakes his head. "I ran his plasma twice."

Cameron asks House, "Are there any stronger treatments for the organophosphates?"

House rolls his eyes, speaking sarcastically. "Oh, dammit you caught me. Went with the weak stuff; just trying to save a little money."

Foreman nods his head. "Actually, one of my teachers at school developed an experimental treatment for the army."

"What's the success rate?"

"They're targeting. There's a different hydrolase treatment for each poison. We need to know if Matt got hit with orthene or malathion-"

Chase asks again for Cameron's benefit. "What's the success rate?"

House stands. "Excellent, I'm sure. It's the US army, "be all you can be". The point is, what are the kid's chances without it?"

Chase stills. "Minimal at best. The poison's broken the blood-brain barrier."

House narrows his eyes. "I assume "minimal at best" is your stiff upper lip British way of saying "no chance in hell"?"

"I'm Australian."

"You put the Queen on your money. You're British." House turns to Foreman. "Call your teacher."

Chase starts pacing again. "If we don't know what poison we're dealing with we don't know which hydrolase to ask for. There's over forty organophosphates-"

Simultaneously, House and Foreman speak up. "Get all of them."

After an awkward pause, Cameron saves them with a snarky remark. "Great minds think alike."

"By the time they get here we better know which one we need."

Foreman shakes his head. "If we figure out how he got exposed we'll figure out what he got exposed to."

"Well, the mom had homemade tomato sauce. Call me crazy, but I'm thinking maybe… homemade tomatoes?"

"Front yard vegetable garden."

"Kid's out there spraying, pretty girl walks by… hormones raging… spray can goes off in his face..."

"I'll check into it." Cameron stands and leaves.

"I'll make the call." Foreman leaves.

"I'll keep Matt alive… For a while at least." Chase hesitates as he leaves.

House nods to the empty room. "I'll have lunch."

In Matt's room, Chase is wiring Matt's heart.

"Through the superior vena cava… into the right atrium… through the tricuspid valve… and lodging into the wall of the right ventricle."

Nurse Abigail is there with him. "Getting a heart rate of thirty six."

"That won't do. Get him to fifty."

They continue. In the lobby, House and Wilson have just stepped off the elevator. Wilson is distracted from his usual banter.

""The healer with his magic powers… I could rub his gentle brow for hours… His manly chest, his stubble jaw, everything about him leaves me raw-""

House frown. "Psych ward's upstairs."

Wilson ignores him as he finishes. ""-With joy. Oh House, your very name… will never leave this girl the same." Not bad for an eighty-two year old." _Raw with joy. Why does that just sound so naturally? I know it shouldn't. So, why does it?_ "She asked me to give that to her true love."

 _Hmm, I wonder what kind of poetry Wilson would write. He is such a girl._ "What can I say? Chicks with no teeth turn me on."

 _House kissing Grandma… frenching Grandma… ewwww…._ "That's… fairly disgusting."

 _Ha! I saw that cringe!_ "And that's ageism."

"You better watch yourself around this babe." Wilson folds up the poem and hands over a folder. "Here are the test results."

"Impressive." Before he can say anything else, his phone rings. "Talk."

"I found the pesticide." Cameron's voice sings through the other side. "It's disulfoton. And it's empty. He used the whole can."

"Okay, I'll get Chase on it."

House hangs up and texts Chase. Wilson waves the poem at House as he walks away. House waves a hand dismissively before sliding his phone back into his pocket. He turns and heads for Cuddy's office. In Matt's room, Chase has read the message. He's now preparing to administer the medicine. While doing so, Matt is asleep so Chase is explaining everything to Matt's mom.

"The poison is called disulfoton. This should bond with it and neutralize the poison. Then his nervous system will start sending the right messages to the rest of his body."

"But there was no disul… that stuff in the can."

"The label says disulfoton. When Dr. Cameron gets back, I can show you."

"But you didn't test it."

"You said Matt sprayed with it this morning before school."

The woman is getting frustrated. "Matt started that garden himself for environmental science class. They weren't allowed to use pesticides."

"Apparently he cheated a little."

"It was orange peel oil, totally organic. He dumped that other stuff last winter."

"The symptoms fit. There must have been some left in the can." Chase tries to assure her.

"If you're wrong, what will this treatment do to him?"

"Well, theoretically it could increase the toxicity and- But we're not wrong." He catches himself and is about to inject the medicine into the IV.

Matt's mom shoots her arm out, grabbing Chase's arm. "Don't."

"We're not wrong."

"I can't let you do this."

Standing off to the side from Cuddy's office, House's phone chimes and he smiles bitterly. _I knew I should've sent Foreman on it._ He reads the text.

From: Wallaby She's not letting me inject him

 _Are we wrong?_

House sighs audibly and slides his phone into his pocket. He barges into Cuddy's office. "Get a court order. Unless you want to see someone killed by sheer irrationality."

She glances up, already knowing what's happening. "Maternal instinct is always irrational. That doesn't mean it's wrong."

House pauses in front of her desk. "Actually… that's the definition."

"It doesn't mean she's mentally incompetent."

"She's risking her son's life based on a teenager's claim that he washed something. How mentally incompetent can you get?"

"That's a _brilliant_ legal argument." She mutters sarcastically.

House is already visibly upset. "Listen, have your Harvard law dog whip up some high-grade, legal-sounding psycho babble. "Temporary insanity brought on by acute panic distress syndrome," I don't care. We have to give him the hydrolase."

Cuddy stands, setting her papers to the side. "Her only sign of mental illness is that she disagrees with you. Some would consider that a sign of sanity."

"Not the kid, let's ask him. Oh, I forgot we _can't_. He's _dying_."

"Get the mother to sign off that she's refusing this treatment."

House rolls his eyes and switches gears. He takes the elevator to the necessary floor. He stops at a nurses' desk and grabs a piece of paper, filling in the woman's name. He then heads for Matt's room and rudely tells the nurse to get lost. When she does, House reads from the paper.

""I, Margo Davis have been informed of the risks that may arise from my refusal of advised medical care. I here by release-""

"Who are you?"

"I work for hospital. "–the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, its employees agents, and otherwise from any adverse medical conditions resulting from my refusal. It is not the hospital's fault if my son kicks off.""

Margo gasps. ""Kicks off"?"

House shrugs. "I punched up the language; mostly for clarification. "I understand my doctors consider my decision to be completely idiotic-""

Margo is close to tears. "Why are you doing this?"

""-But I am convinced that I know more than they do. I took a biology course in high school, so… yeah. Besides, I enjoy controlling every single aspect of my son's life, even if it means his death." Sign here please. I brought a pen."

"Who _are_ you?"

"I'm the doctor who's trying to save your son. You're the mom who's letting him die. Clarification. It's a beautiful thing."

Margo lets a few tears slip. She feels angry and guilty. She shakes her head; giving House the confirmation to do what he thinks is best. House then leaves the room, to find Cameron coming around a corner.

"She rethought her position. Start him on the hydrolase."

Cameron sighs. "No. We've got a problem."

In another room down the hall, there is another dead-looking fifteen-year-old kid. Chase is there, in intensivist mode. On three, Chase, Foreman and a nurse move the boy. Chase sticks a tube down the kid's throat.

"Heart rates 49… O2 stat." Foreman calls.

Chase puts the stethoscope around his neck. "Saline, atropine, and diazepam, now."

Just outside the room, Cameron explains to House. "His names Chi Ling. He was admitted twelve minutes ago. Identical symptoms as Matt. Chase isn't sure he's gonna make it."

"Matt's next-door neighbor, by any chance?"

"They live 10 miles apart. Apparently they don't even know each other. According to his dad, they live in an apartment. They have two bamboo trees, no pesticides. Just dried seaweed for fertilizer."

In the room, they pump oxygen into him, and his heart rate returns to normal. Thirty minutes later, in a hallway leading to the office, House is talking with Chase. Cameron tags along behind them.

"The second kid's heart is almost as weak as Matt's; were gonna have to get him wired up, too. And I don't know how long Matt's brain's gonna hold up; his hearts not pumping enough oxygen."

"How much are you giving him?"

"Eighty percent."

"Make it ninety."

"We're risking damage to his retina."

"What the heck? Do it anyway. He's a calculus student; he probably likes having a brain… I'll have Foreman do it."

Chase frowns, thinking House is punishing him. "I'm the primary."

"Yeah, but the mom wants to get rid of you. And you know me, I'm a people-pleasing kind of guy when the patient's dying."

Chase's mouth makes an 'o'-shape. "She complained? About me?"

"She went to the principal. Told Cuddy you do drugs at school. This is gonna go on your permanent record."

"I was trying to get information; it was a strategy."

"She also used the word "slacker". Want to come in, smoke a little weed, and watch some MTV? They enter the office. Cameron finally speaks up.

"High school has no idea what could have happened."

"You sure Chi didn't sneak out of Matt's tomato patch? Maybe they sniffed disulfoton together to get high."

Cameron shakes her head. "They both go to Hopkins High School, but they're in different grades, different cliques, different everything."

 _Great. The two sick kids go to my old high school._ "They managed to get poisoned together; they must have something in common."

Cameron shakes her head. "Their classes aren't in the same building. They don't even eat lunch in the same lunchroom."

"How do they get to school?"

House sees the two share a look. He sends Cameron and Chase to the bus lot. It's about a forty-five minute drive. The teen doctors have found a bus driver and are trying to gain access.

Sam the bus driver shakes his head. "Unless you're with the board, the police, or the union, I don't care who you are."

Cameron sighs. "Sir, we need to test the bus for chemical residue."

"And I need to pick up the basketball team. You got a problem with it, call my supervisor."

He shuts door, but Chase raps sharply on said door, shouting through the glass. "Two kids were poisoned on _your_ bus _this_ morning. They're _dying_."

Luckily, this wills the driver to open the doors for the teen doctors. Chase shows Sam the pictures of the boys. The man nods.

"Matt is back row right, the Asian kid second or third row left." He then turns to Cameron. "Look, I've got this rash in kind of my groin region…"

"It's not a symptom." Cameron turns away quickly.

"Neither is being obnoxious. She's fourteen." Chase snaps. "Looks like you're in the clear."

Chase gets on the bus to start testing. It's obvious Sam and Cameron are embarrassed. He turns back to her while Chase is on the bus.

"Sorry. So who poisoned them?"

Cameron frowns. "We're not sure yet if it was done on purpose…"

"Oh yeah? You should see the little bastards, screaming and punching each other all day long…"

"Did you happen to notice if anyone was doing any spraying near the bus route?"

Sam shakes his head for a moment, but then he realizes something. "Oh yeah. There was a truck down by the pond or something earlier… smelled kinda funny too."

Meanwhile, Foreman is in Matt's room, talking with Margo.

"My God… the things he said." She mumbles, talking about House.

"Dr. House wanted your son to get the medicine he needed. He was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen."

"The wrong kind of medicine." She snaps.

"He didn't know that. At the time it was our only choice."

"He would have known if he'd listened to me."

"He listened. He just assumed you were wrong. And to be honest, that's true of most of our patients."

Margo growls. "You're just as pompous and superior as he is!"

With Chase and Cameron at the bus lot, Foreman dealing with Margo and Wilson having his own cancer patients, House is left with Georgia Adams. Entering her room, he's greeted with an excited smile.

"Oh! Dr. House!"

Mark huffs. "Well, it took you long enough. We've been waiting…"

House cuts him off. "Could you step outside a minute?"

"Why?"

"Because you irritate me."

"He is my son, doctor." Georgia grins. "He's just a little cranky from not eating."

House rolls his eyes. "Fine. Mrs. Adams, have you had any recent sexual activity?"

"What?!" Mark puts a hand over his mouth.

"Well… I don't suppose fantasies count…"

"Oh, my God…" Mark starts pacing. House bites back a smile.

"Unfortunately, I've hit kind of a dry spell. Only for the last, oh, I don't know, 15 years."

Mark returns to her side. "She's confused. My father died 8 years ago, heart attack."

"Not in bed, dear." She faces House. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you have tested positive for syphilis."

"That's impossible." Mark declares, moving away. "And insulting!"

House ignores him in favor of Georgia staring at the floor, knowingly. "I don't think it's the first time Mom's heard this diagnosis."

Georgia smiles, shyly this time. "Cupid's disease, that what we used to call it."

"When did you get it?"

"Uh… 1939. Prom night, I think. He had a Chevrolet. It was before I met your father."

"But… Mom… You said dad was your first love."

Georgia nods. "He was. We're talking about sex." While Mark starts pacing again, Georgia looks over to House. "I was treated."

House shrugs. "Which suppressed it. In your case, for sixty years. But now it's back, and the spirochetes that cause syphilis are eating away at your brain cells."

"Oh… That's revolting."

"It's not as revolting as Chlamydia; that's got seepage. And it's the twenty-first century. We've got flying cars, talking dogs, and penicillin. High-dose regimen for two weeks, you're cured."

Mark looks like he's about to throw up. "I don't believe it."

"Yeah, well, pinch yourself. And don't throw up unless it's in the bin."

Georgia sighs dejectedly. "I guess for the next two weeks I'd better practice safe sex."

House smirks. "You'll be fine. Just feed that cranky kid."

He leaves the room, and the ducklings come down the hall to find him. Cameron speaks first.

"The county's worried about West Nile so they sprayed ethyl parathion right next to the bus route."

"Do you have the hydrolase for ethyl parathion?"

"Yep." Foreman responds. "Only one problem. Matt's mom faxed his record to the CDC, and she refuses to let us do anything till she hears back from them."

"You're getting good at this God-like doctor thing. Why don't you talk her out of it?"

"She's… not a big fan of mine."

"Or mine." Chase reminds them.

"Only one man left in the bullpen and he throws like a girl."

Cameron sighs. "I hate sports metaphors."

House smirks. "Give her the high hard one."

Cameron heads to the coffee maker in the lounge. Margo is already there.

"We really think the hydrolase is the only-"

Margo cuts her off. "I'm thinking about transferring Matt out of here."

"Ms. Davis, your son is very sick. He won't survive a transfer."

"I'm getting a second opinion from the Center for Disease Control."

"Right… Look when my grandmother got sick-"

She huffs. "What, you're gonna tell me some tough decision you had to make?"

"I know how hard this is for you."

"Maybe embroider the story a little, make it fit."

"I can't imagine being in your position."

"Honesty. A kind of vulnerable honesty, that's your thing. And the looks. They send a single woman to hustle the single mother."

She starts to leave when Cameron catches her arm. "Actually, they sent a doctor. To tell you that if your son doesn't get his treatment, there's a good chance he'll die."

"That's what House said about a treatment that would have killed Matt. You gotta do better than that."

"No. It's on you. You gotta do better. Right now, yes or no?"

"I don't know…"

"Figure it out."

Cameron walks out, but Margo shouts after her, giving her permission. Chase and Foreman then give the medicine to the boys an hour later. Matt starts seizing. Margo shouts for help, but so does Chi's dad. Foreman goes to Chi's room. Cameron follows Chase. In both rooms, the dosage is upped ten milligrams for Diazepam, and another ten. The nurses escort out the parents to the hall. The curtains are drawn. Machines start beeping, a and heart rates plummet.

In a hallway between the office and the patients' rooms, House is going over the case with the ducklings. They start walking to the office when Foreman groans loudly.

"Their hearts are barely pumping. Their lungs are shot, now they're showing liver toxicity."

"I guess Matt's mom won't nominate any of us for any Doctor of the Year awards." House remarks dryly.

"Only explanation is something other than ethyl parathion poisoned them. Then the hydrolase would release the neurotoxins instead of bonding with them."

They enter the office and Cameron slumps in a seat. "The only thing they have in common is the bus."

"Except their symptoms." House reminds the team. "Given their severity, in fact their cardiac symptoms are getting worse much faster than all their other ones, what does that tell us?"

"Poison was probably absorbed through the skin."

"Okay. It's a quarter till two- o'clock. They were admitted at 8:45 and 11:00. When were they poisoned?"

Foreman thinks. "Absorption through the skin? Anywhere from three to eight hours."

Cameron shakes her head. "In a case that bad, more like one and a half to four."

House nods. "So, Matt was poisoned before 7:15. Before he got on the bus."

"You think each kid got poisoned in his own house? Two separate exposures?"

"What do teenage boys do in the morning? Besides the obvious?"

Foreman thinks. "Wake up… go to the bathroom, and… the obvious. Then check their zits in the mirror."

"Do they use the same acne cream?"

Cameron hums. "Because acne cream contains lanolin, which could have pesticides, and you're thinking they both bought the same product which-"

House finishes his thought. "Could be contaminated. Shaving cream?"

Foreman shakes his head. "Chi doesn't look like he shaves."

"He sweats."

"Deodorant could contain lanolin." Cameron understands.

"These people have pets?"

Foreman frowns. "Chi has a dog; Matt has a cat."

"Fleas, flea powder."

"Okay. Go to their houses, check for anything that could have touched their skin between the time they got up and the time they got on the bus. And I'm running low on tomato sauce."

Chase heads to the clinic to work off some of House's hours, as House claims to have other things to do. Most likely, he's going to grab a late lunch with Wilson. He only turns down one hallway when a familiar voice shouts after him.

"Dr. House!"

He reluctantly stops so Georgia can catch up. "I sent you home."

"I came back." She answers matter-of-factly. "I took a cab so my son wouldn't try to chaperone us this time."

"I'm sorry, but the fact that the sexual pleasure center of your cerebral cortex has been over-stimulated by spirochetes is a poor basis for a relationship. Learned that one the hard way."

Georgia sighs. "Look, Dr. House, these feelings that's I've been having. Is it all because of the syphilis?"

"Yes."

"Then here's the prescription you gave me." She tucks the prescription in the teen's hands. House just looks puzzled. Georgia smiles flirtatiously. "Well, it's not like I'm going to infect anyone."

"No, but it'll kill you."

Georgia laughs. "Well, you gotta go sometime. And I really don't want to play canasta for the rest of my life. I… I like feeling sexy again. And making a fool out of myself with handsome young doctors."

"Do you think I would have given you this if it would stop you from flirting with me?"

"But if I'm cured?"

"The spirochetes will die off. But the little pieces of your cerebral cortex that have been destroyed won't grow back. You're brain damaged." He smirks a little. "Doomed to feeling good for the rest of your life."

"Oh!" Then she smiles excitedly again. "Oh… thank you!"

She leans in to kiss him, but House pulls back.

"Georgia!"

She giggles, winking incredibly flirtatiously.. "When I stop being contagious, I'll come back for a checkup."

"Yeah…"

It's about two-thirty when Forman is at Matt's house, and Cameron is at Chi's. They're communicating using their cell phones.

"Cologne. Matt uses Sure."

"Chi uses Old Spice."

"No zit cream."

"Lucky guy. Floral air freshener."

"Doesn't mater. When's the last time you heard of a teenage boy using air freshener? Pert shampoo."

"Johnson's over here. Matt's mom would make him use air freshener."

"There are limits to a mother's power, even hers."

Cameron rolls her eyes. "Just check."

"Negative on the floral."

At three o'clock, Wilson and House return from lunch. Chase has left the clinic to check on Matt. Wilson goes back to his office for a 3:15 appointment. House runs into Chase in the hallway by the office.

"Matt's ALTs are up to eight hundred. If they get any higher we can toss his liver."

Before House can retort, his phone goes off. "Yeah?"

Cameron starts in. "No matches on flea powder, underarm deodorant…"

Foreman is patched through a three-way. "Or any other kind of deodorant."

"What about shampoo?"

Foreman groans. "No to shampoo bar soap, dish soap, dish detergent…"

"What about laundry detergent? Maybe they both washed their clothes this morning?"

Cameron hadn't thought of that. "I'll check"

"If we cure Matt, he can use his close brush with death on his college essays. Admission guys love that stuff."

While Cameron and Foreman are searching for the detergent, House begins walking the other way. Chase follows him.

Cameron finds the detergent. "TKO."

Foreman finds some as well. "TKO. Liquid?"

"Liquid, 128 ounces."

"128. Yellow jug. Special-"

Cameron finishes. "-environmentally safe formula. It's the same!"

"Bring in the detergent." He orders as he hangs up.

Chase is shocked by what he's overheard. "So the detergent was contaminated with pesticides?"

House nods. "Soaked into their clothes and got absorbed into their skin…" They enter Chi's room. His parents are there. "Hi, look, the clothes your son wore today. He washed them this morning, right?"

Chi's Dad raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nice respectful Asian kid does the laundry."

Chi's Dad denies it. "My wife said he didn't."

"Then I'm guessing he washed them last night, without you knowing."

"Please. He doesn't even know how to turn on the machine." Chi's mom denies it also. "And besides, those clothes were new. Nobody washed them."

Chase tilts his head. "His clothes are all new?"

"The ones he wore today, yes. Never washed."

Irritated, House and his Australian duckling leave the room.

"Now what?"

"What about Matt's clothes? They new?"

"They're ruddy old jeans, I think. They've been bagged up and taken downstairs."

House starts off, taking the lift to the basement storage. Chase is with him as the gates are unlocked. They rummage through today's entries, and House finally finds the right bag.

"Davis."

"Yep they're Matt's. And they're old"

House pokes at the tag. "And yet the label isn't faded in the slightest. Fake old. 100 dollars for the homeless look. What, kids aren't pretentious in England?"

"Chi's are a different brand, how could they both be contaminated?"

"That is a question for the ages. In the meantime get these tests in."

It is just past four o'clock when Cameron and Foreman return to the hospital. They join Chase in the lab, running tests. In House's office, he sits at his desk, twirling his cane. Wilson sits at the chair he normally occupies.

"I never bother to wash new clothes before I wear them."

House snorts. "Right, your fiancé does. She wants you to feel nice and comfortable."

"Hey! I'm a man. About. I don't have time for laundry, I'm saving lives here. No, she doesn't wash them either."

House smirks. "So your skin absorbs a little dye, the odd chemical here and there…"

Wilson smiles as well. "Well, you know me. Always living on the edge."

Foreman and Chase walk in then, looking almost relieved. House addresses them.

"Judging by the self importance of your strut, you have identified the chemical in question."

"Phosmet."

"Hit him with the hydrolase."

"Chi's parents said yes but-"

House rolls his eyes. "Mighty mom said no. She's gonna feel like million bucks when Chi lives and her son dies. Send Cameron. She's the only one who's managed to talk her into anything."

"Not this time. Matt's mom won't do anything until she gets that opinion from the CDC."

Wilson rolls his eyes this time. "Godot would be faster…"

House motions for Wilson to follow him, and he picks up his mini-TV. The ducklings awkwardly return to the differential room as Wilson follows House. They walk out to the balcony, climb over the wall and head into Wilson's office, whispering the whole way. It seems Wilson concedes to the plan, and House leaves the office. He walks down to Matt's room, alerting Margo. He comes in, sits down, and flicks on his mini-TV. He also sets the medicine next to the television.

"What is this?!"

"Thought I'd hang out in case you change your mind… and I can give Matt the medicine right away. Don't worry, I've got time."

"The CDC promised they'd call."

"They will." He assures her. "Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. Takes time to review faxed records. Then they'll probably tell you they can't make a decision based on faxed records." House points to the TV. "This is Suzy. She's never gonna marry him… no money."

"What makes you think you're right this time?"

"Same reason as last time. You wanna see how the other kid does first, that's okay. Might help you. But there's a real good chance that-"

"What? Matt might "kick off"?"

"A little blunt… I was gonna say "run out of time," or just sort of let my voice trail off…"

Margo's cell goes off.

"Hello?"

"Ma'am, this is Tisdale at the Center for Disease Control." A deep Southern voice emerges from the phone. "Is this Margo Davis?"

"Yes, this is Margo Davis."

"I'm sorry it's taken so long, but we are unable to make a decision based on faxed records."

"But you have his records; I sent them."

"Ma'am. The CDC is unable to give an opinion at this time, and… we're gonna have a doctor in your area next week."

"Yes, I understand." She sighs, hanging up. She looks over to where House is sitting. "They can't help me."

He nods, turning off the television. "They haven't seen him. Can't make a decision based on-"

"Give it to him!"

House nods, heading outside to grab his ducklings. He sends them inside with a nod, walking over to Wilson. No longer in his office, Wilson hands House his cell phone, repeating what he said in his fake Southern accent.

"The CDC is unable to give an opinion at this time, and… we're gonna have a doctor in your area next week."

House resists the urge to grin, looking at his best friend incredulously. "You fooled her with that?"

Wilson nods, and then joins the others. Cameron administers the medicine. Foreman, Wilson, Chase and House watch worriedly from the window. Matt's mom is biting her nails next to Cameron inside. Eventually, Matt's heart rate returns to normal. Everyone looks relieved. Forty-five minutes later, Matt sits up.

"So I'm gonna be cured?"

Cameron nods. "As long as you don't wear any more poisoned pants."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I knew the pants were stolen… they were only five bucks. You're gonna give me hell, aren't you?"

"Oh, honey I'm just glad you're alive. Let's get you home so you can rest. Maybe I am too hard on you. You don't have to make up that test till next week. You can stay in bed and work on your applications."

In House's office, Foreman comes in to talk to House.

"Some guy was selling pants off the back of his truck near the school. When he wasn't busy as a clothing entrepreneur, he did daily at the cornfield over by route one. Used the same truck for both jobs."

"Spilled pesticides on the pants, didn't bother to clean up. So, why are you still here? Why aren't you out there making up with the joyful mother?"

"Why would I do that?"

"No reason at all, you don't care about her or her son."

They wander out the door, running into the Margo and Matt. Margo is the one who speaks up.

"Oh, Dr. House. The CDC called. Again."

"Oops."

House and Foreman turn a corner, but they can hear Matt's voice.

"Who are they?"

"Oh, they're the arrogant jerks that saved your life."

House and Foreman smirk, walking into the elevator. They glance to each other, and then follow each other's gaze to their matching running shoes.

 **Alright… I'm trying to run an internal calendar. I think this was the first episode where the case only took a day. It took all day long, but it only took a day. I've said before that it doesn't really get non-canon until the middle of the second season. Well, that's changed now. It starts to get a little non-canon on a chapter from season one – 10. I'm currently watching that one and typing up chapter nine. Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, my beautiful readers. I'm listening to bubblegum pop music. It's not one of my favorites, but it's waking me up. It's 1:44am that I'm starting this. I got distracted from writing this due to a Psych marathon that was on from eight last night and it's still on, but I've had enough of the Yin/Yang storyline. Sorry, not sorry. I guess the birthdays in here are a little noncanon, but I don't know when they actually are. So, I've decided when they'll be. This episode starts off at Cuddy's birthday. Since Cuddy doesn't mention House's birthday, House ignores Cuddy's. It's how that works with them. Okay… well I suppose we should get started. If you haven't been following along, this is 1.09 – DNR.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

 _JHG… he's in my hospital, on my birthday. I shouldn't be happy about this. I mean, he's sorta paralyzed. Well, he is. He's paralyzed. He's sick. Which is why he is in a hospital. But on my birthday! I hate it when something amazing happens with something totally not amazing._

House enters Cuddy's office, breaking her away from her thoughts.

"I want in."

"John Henry Giles, you a fan of his music?"

"He's a musician?" _Yeah, yeah, Cuddy. I know you love his music. I… like it okay. But there's something way more interesting than his music for me._ "That paralysis thing, guy can't walk for two years and nobody knows why, that seems mildly interesting."

Cuddy shakes her head. "Forget his paralysis."

"Tell that to the rest of his bowling team."

"As far as this hospital is concerned, this is a simple case of lobar pneumonia. Boring." _I suppose that's better for JHG, and at least he'll be here for a few hours. Maybe a day…_

"But that "not walking" thing. That could turn into something serious!"

"Marty Hamilton is his primary physician out in California. He's dealing with the paralysis." She stands up to leave.

"Know all about it. Multiple treatments, multiple surgeries. Making real progress. Fixed everything but the legs."

"Dr. Hamilton already called and asked for your team." _God knows why._ "And by team, I don't mean you."

"Like I always say, there's no "I" in "team". There is a "me", though, if you jumble it up."

They leave her office, and Cuddy finally speaks. "Foreman already knows Hamilton."

"I know. I did accidentally glance at his resume before he got hired."

"He wants someone he can trust."

"He must have spoken to Foreman's parole officer."

"Someone who will stick to the pneumonia. John Henry's on an experimental protocol for the paralysis."

"I respect that. I'm not going to get in his way." _I just want to do something else on the side._

"It's Foreman's case."

She walks into the women's bathroom, and House shouts after her before walking away. "It's pneumonia, he can handle it. Guy's already paralyzed, how badly can he screw it up?"

In the diagnostic differential lounge thirty minutes later, Cameron and Chase are looking through some medical books. House is beside Chase, fooling with his cane. Foreman is at the board.

"So, what are his stats?" Foreman asks, internally excited about leading the case.

"Staying in the nineties on the nasal canella." Chase glances up.

"Coughing up much sputa?"

"Almost none, he seems to be stabilized." Cameron shakes her head.

"Dr. House, is there anything back from Micro?"

"Not yet. You gonna fire me?" House dares him with his eyes.

"You can make up for it by washing my car."

 _That's what I taught you. Of course, there's so many fun ways to wash a car._ "Oh, this is fun."

Chase smiles. Foreman continues with the differential.

"Let's keep him on the broad-spectrum antibiotics, and since he's displaying septic physiology, draw blood for adrenal and thyroid function."

Cameron and Chase stand up, but House's feet resting on the table block their path. House raises a question.

"How about the paralysis?"

"We're sticking to the pneumonia."

House confirms this sardonically. "Well, you certainly are, boss. Like a wet tongue sticks to dry ice."

Chase and Cameron sit as House and Foreman continue to feud.

"Dr. Hamilton has already diagnosed the paralysis. It's ALS."

"Lou Gehrig's disease. It's a lovely diagnosis. They make movies about it. No tests, no treatment. It's a disease of exclusion –"

Foreman cuts him off. "- because Hamilton has excluded everything else."

"I haven't." _No way in hell you're ready for this yet._ House gets up and takes the board marker from Foreman. The younger teen steps to the side, agitated, as House looks over to Chase and Cameron. "What else could it be?"

Chase has an idea. "Guillain-Barre, which would be reversible."

"Excellent." He starts to write, but Foreman takes the marker away from him.

"No, the progression of the paralysis would be symmetric. This wasn't."

Cameron tries. "Transverse myelitis."

"Hamilton tested for it. Negative. And he was negative for masses, and AVM, and –"

Chase has a better idea. "Antibodies could be attacking the nerve. Multifocal motor neuropathy."

House nods, snatching the marker back. "Uncommon, but it fits. It's also treatable. Did Hamilton try putting the guy on IVIG?"

Foreman shakes his head. "No, because the MRI showed –"

"Well, let's do an MRI of our own."

Chase and Cameron get up, but Foreman calls at them.

"Guys? It's my case." He grabs the marker back and they sit down again. "ALS fits. It even predicts the pneumonia. The paralysis is progressive."

 _Foreman's going to wind up killing Cuddy's musician. What a fine birthday gift._ "It's a death sentence."

"That doesn't make it wrong."

Ten minutes later, John's hospital room, a Bose stereo system is playing jazz. Foreman is taking blood samples. John turns the music off with a remote.

"So, you think the breathing stuff is connected to my ALS?"

"It makes sense."

"So, it's just gonna get worse, huh?"

"Well, Dr. Hamilton –"

"Great guy. Really smart doctor, but his treatment obviously isn't working. Do you think I'm gonna die here, or you think I'm gonna get to go back home first?"

 _It's a death sentence. Damn it! Why, why, why?_ "An MRI would give us a better idea –"

"An MRI? Come on. For pneumonia?"

 _Don't tell him! This is your case!_ "Well, Dr. House thinks we should test for –"

"House? Yeah, I heard about him. Obsessive son-of-a-bitch?"

Foreman chuckles despite himself. "That's him."

"So, who do you think is right? Hamilton or House?"

Foreman bites his lip. "They're both excellent physicians."

"Come on. One of 'em says ALS, the other one says not ALS… you gotta pick one, son."

 _I've known Hamilton longer._ Foreman sighs. "Everything points to ALS."

"Then no MRI. And I want one of them papers that say I, I don't want nothin' done if something go bad."

"A DNR? Mr. Giles, you don't want to rush things –"

"It's been two years, I ain't rushing. I wanna sign one. Now, while my arm still works."

Thirty minutes later, Foreman walks into House's office with some papers. House is listening to one of John's albums with headphones. He's conducting the music with his arm, while lying on the floor of his office, his feet propped up on a chair.

"He signed a DNR."

House takes the headphones off, looking up to him in confusion. "He rhymes with dinner?"

"He signed a DNR." Foreman repeats.

"Oh. That makes more sense. You tell him it might not be ALS?"

"No." _Yes._

"Well, no wonder he signed. Who wouldn't?"

"I started him on IV steroids and ancinthroid."

"Great. If it was my case, I'd be adding a little IVIG to the mix."

"For his pneumonia?"

House nods. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

"He doesn't want anything done. No treatment."

House glares at him. "DNR means "do not resuscitate", not "do not treat". You do nothing, it doesn't matter which one of us is right." He puts his headphones back on, and his serious voice is replaced by one more cynical. "And hang on to that DNR. That signature could be worth a lot of money real soon."

In the hallway, Foreman gets on his cell phone and asks for Mr. Giles's status, followed by, "Increase the steroids to 100mg every 12 hours, and, ah, start him on IVIG. Yeah, I'm sure. One gram per kilo."

An hour later, the ducklings are with their tutors. They're on call for Mr. Giles's condition. Meanwhile, House is down in the clinic. He is in exam room one with his first clinic patient of the day – Billy.

"My nature isn't what it used to be. The little man has lost some bounce in his step. He needs to crank it up, have himself some fun this weekend." He finally, confidentially meets House's eyes. "He wants the blue pills."

House shuts his eyes. "You're talking about your penis in the third person."

Billy nods. "Me and him, two people."

"Separate vacations? That'd be a drag for one of you. I don't think you need the pills. I think you have a conflict of medications. You need to up your insulin to "chocolate chip ice cream" levels."

Billy looks up in shock. "Insulin?"

"Yeah, you remember. That's the stuff you take for the diabetes that you forgot to tell the nurse about. Your hands. No hair, which means nerve damage. And your shoes look about two sizes too small, which means you've lost sensation in your feet. And then there's your pants."

"My pants tell you I have diabetes?"

"No, they tell me you're an idiot. Powdered sugar on the right pant leg. Based on the two napkins in your right pocket, I'm willing to bet it's not your first donut of the day."

House's pager beeps, cutting off farther scathing remarks. He picks it up and it says "Code Blue – John Henry Giles – Rm. 324". Rolling his eyes, House gives Billy a prescription.

"You're giving me the pills?"

"Sure, why not? If you've got heart disease from ignoring the diabetes they'll kill you. Otherwise, you two have a fun weekend."

In John's room. Chase is listening to his breathing with a stethoscope. Cameron walks in.

"0-2 stats are dropping."

"Breath sounds?"

"Chunky."

"Mucus plug?"

Foreman enters, hearing the last bit. "No, it's our mistake. He's sludging from the IVIG. Blood can't get through to his lungs."

"Start Heparin. 500ccs, IV push." Cameron nods.

"He won't last long enough for it to work. We've got to intubate him, stat." Chase calls out. Cameron starts to bring over the equipment.

"We can't!" Foreman shouts. "He's DNR."

Chase looks up, bewildered. "What?!"

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman are left standing around his bed. John's business partner Cora has just arrived to the hospital, carrying a bag from the Princeton Record Exchange full of CDs. A bit later, House hobbles into the room. Chase is standing by the door, Foreman is sitting by the bed, and Cameron is standing by the foot of the bed.

"His stats are in the seventies. How long has he been like this?"

"Ten minutes." Chase answers quietly.

"Well, why aren't you doing –"

Foreman groans. "The IVIG put him into respiratory failure."

House faces him in angry alarm. "You put him on the IVIG?"

" _We_ did this." Foreman reminds him.

"So undo it! Chase!"

Foreman stands up. "It's too late! We killed him."

"Nobody killed him! He's not dead! Chase, intubate him!"

"He's DNR."

House looks at them all, and shoves his cane at Chase. He starts to intubate John himself.

"What are you doing? You can't do this!"

"Bag." House ignores Foreman's protests.

"You can't do this!"

"Bag!" He grabs the bag and starts to ventilate. Cora walks in, staring at the scene before her. "He had a bad reaction to some medicine we gave him."

"What did you just do?"

Cameron sighs. "He saved his life."

An hour later, at 1:45, John is hooked up to a ventilator. The four doctors have just walked into the diagnosing office. Chase breaks the silence.

"He's stable on the ventilator. Oxygenating well."

House nods. "The IVIG made him worse, which means multifocal motoneuropathy was a bad diagnosis. Okay, what's _really_ wrong with him?"

Foreman scoffs. "What's wrong with _you_?"

"Everyone knows what's wrong with me. What's wrong with him is much more interesting."

"You tubed him and he didn't wanna be tubed! He has a legal paper saying just that."

"To intubate or not to intubate, that is the big ethical question. Actually, I was hoping we could avoid it, maybe just practice some medicine."

"There's no question. It's the patient's decision –"

"- if the patient is competent to make it, if his thyroid numbers aren't making him sad."

"Oh, my God. You don't believe that."

Cameron steps up to support House. "His thyroid levels were a little –"

"It's nothing. Do not defend him."

House rounds on Foreman. "Why did he sign that DNR?"

 _Oh, shit! Was I not careful enough? Did something slip?_ "I didn't talk him into –"

"No, he signed the DNR 'cause he didn't want a slow and painful death from ALS. What was happening to him had nothing to do with his ALS."

"Right! Exactly! It's the IVIG, you screwed up! You're not gonna let him die because you screwed up!"

House shrugs. "Technically, your case. You screwed up. Is that what this is about? Looking bad in front of your old boss?"

"You assaulted that man."

House holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I'll never do it again."

"Yes, you will."

"All the more reason this debate is pointless."

Foreman leaves, knowing this basically just made House in charge again. House knows it..

"His lungs are worse. Any theories?" Cameron looks to see where Foreman went. _C'mon, Cameron. Forget about it. You can't solve him. Solve the case._ House scoffs. "Oh, I'm sure he just went to the little boys' room. Come on, people."

"Uh, vasculitis?" Chase digs up.

"Wouldn't likely hit both lungs."

"It could be Wegener's granulomatosis."

A woman in a skirt suit that would make Cuddy proud walks in. "Dr. House?"

House looks surprised, but the woman simply smirks. "Sorry." She hands him a paper and leaves. House hands the paper to Cameron.

Chase continues. "There are case reports of Wegener's hitting both the legs and the spine."

"Well, it's not great, but it's better than ALS. At least it's treatable."

Cameron has read over the paper and she looks up to House. "It's a restraining order. You're not to come within fifty feet of John Henry Giles, and they've asked the DA to file criminal charges for battery."

House brushes it off. "Cameron, test the blood for c-ANCA."

"These are criminal charges. They aren't going to let you take blood to make more tests."

 _Not my first; won't be my last._ "He has blood left in the lab, just add on the c-ANCA." He glances to Chase. "Foreman's still got you doing bronchioscopic suctioning for the pneumonia?"

Chase nods. "Every four hours."

"Well, while you're down in his lungs, grab a biopsy. We'll need it to confirm Wegener's. And move the patient to the second floor ICU."

"Why?"

House smirks. "It's right above the clinic. I'm pretty sure it's fifty feet in any direction. It's nice having a court order saying you don't have to work clinic duty."

House goes and sits in his office. Cameron sighs and follows Chase to John's room. An hour later, John is readjusted in his new room. Cuddy is talking to a couple of patients when House comes to the doorway and stops.

"Dr. Cuddy!" He yells loudly.

Cuddy makes an apologetic face to the patients. "Excuse me."

"You paged me."

"Why the yelling?" She questions, walking over.

"His bed is behind that wall. The plaintiff's." He answers innocently. "I can't, you know, come any closer."

Cuddy rolls her eyes. "It's right over the clinic. Very cute."

"Can we get the lecture over with, because I've got a, actually, I've got nothing to do." _That's new…_ "Take your time."

"You need a lawyer?"

This is definitely not what House had thought to come from her mouth. "You don't have a problem with what I did?"

"When I got you hired, I knew you were insane. I will continue to try and stop you from doing insane things, but once they're done…. Trying to convince an insane person not to do insane things is, in itself, insane, so when I hired you I also set aside $50,000 a year for legal expenses. So far you've come in under budget."

House blinks. "Great. Any chance you could help me run some tests?"

Cuddy sighs. "Eric called Dr. Hamilton. He's flying in from L.A."

"You can talk to him."

"Dr. Hamilton is flying in as a friend of John Henry's to pull the plug."

House's eyes turn downcast. "Yeah. I need a lawyer."

Two hours later, at 5:30, House and his attorney are in the courtroom with Cora and Giles's attorney. Wilson is also in the room, sitting behind House. The attorneys stand before Judge Winter. House's attorney speaks first.

"Your Honor, on behalf of Gregory House, we have convened an emergency session of this court to bring a motion requesting John Henry Giles remain on life support."

"Mr. House faces criminal charges for battery against… John Henry Giles." The judge pauses. "You beat up a guy in a wheelchair?"

"Dr. House is alleged to have forced a tube down Mr. Giles' throat against his will."

 _Geez, like that sounds any better._ House stands up. "A medical tube, saving his life."

"Dr. House, please let your attorney speak for you."

House's attorney makes a noise in the back of his throat. House sighs.

"I'm sorry, your Honor. I was way out of line." He sits.

"So, uh, your client forced the patient into this position," Cora shakes her head at House while the judge speaks. "And now he wants a court order to force the patient to stay that way."

House's attorney speaks up. "Without the tube, there's a high likelihood that Mr. Giles will die."

"Well, I assume the patient knows that, he had a DNR. That's why your client is facing criminal charges, right?"

"Exactly. And Mr. Giles' death will violate my client's Sixth Amendment right."

"The right to face his accuser." Judge Winter smiles. "That's clever, huh?"

Giles' attorney stands now. "Your Honor, in Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v. Hozelton, the 3rd district ruled that a defendant may not use that status to rule against a felony charge."

As Giles's attorney prattles on, Wilson leans forward to whisper to House.

"Why are you doing this? It's not going to keep you out of jail."

"No."

"Even if you win, the restraining order and battery charge stay in place. What have you gained?"

"Time."

"To diagnose him? You can't get near him!"

"I don't want to get near him."

"You know how some doctors have the Messiah complex, they need to save the world? You've got the Rubik's complex, you need to solve the puzzle."

 _Huh. Rubik's complex. Of all the crazy things you've said I have… I like that one._ "Are you done, or do you have more references to 1980s fads? I'm trying to listen to this."

He turns back around, tugging at his shirt collar. Wilson sighs, settling back in his seat. House's attorney is talking now.

"That DNR may not be valid. The patient was suffering from depression brought on from a thyroid imbalance."

"The DNR order was witnessed by Dr. House's own staff, a, a Dr. Foreman."

House refrains from standing. Inside, his mind is screaming. _My staff are idiots. I'm sure you know what it's like, your Honor._

House's attorney keeps it up. "The validity of the DNR is a question of fact. Dr. House should have the opportunity to make his argument at a full trial."

Judge Winter shakes his head. "And this poor guy has gotta stay on life support until we can schedule a trial."

"Your Honor –" House stands then.

"Dr. House, I will hold you in contempt if you don't sit down."

"I have a medical issue."

"If it pertains to this case your attorney should –"

"It doesn't. Do you have any history of heart disease in your family?"

Giles' attorney scoffs. "Your Honor!"

House keeps going. "Your fingers. They show signs of clubbing, which indicate a health problem. Remember Bart Giamotti? Same thing, just dropped dead one day. Please see your doctor."

Giles' attorney rolls his eyes. "He's admitted this isn't relevant. Can we please get back to the motion?"

"Of course, I'm sorry." He sits.

"Your Honor, people's right to control the treatment of their own body is fundamental to understanding this case. A long line of"

The man keeps talking, but it's obvious that Judge Winter isn't listening. Instead, he is examining his fingers in the light of the lamp. About twenty minutes later, Wilson and House are walking out of the elevator of the courthouse.

"Congratulations, impressive legal argument."

House smirks, pulling off his tie with aggravation.. "I watched Matlock last night."

Wilson smiles. "Oh, say no more. I didn't notice any clubbing on the judge's fingers."

"Neither did I."

"So, the family history thing…"

"Every family has some history of heart disease."

Wilson shakes his head. "And mental illness."

It's eight o'clock when House meets up with Cameron and Chase in the pathology lab

"Biopsy only shows inflammation." Chase says, noticing his arrival.

"Start him on Cytoxan."

Cameron frowns. "You're diagnosing Wegener's based on a little inflammation?"

"Well, unfortunately I think we've exhausted all the tests we can do in the capacity as the doctors he doesn't want doing tests on him."

"But you don't –"

"We'll know I'm right if he starts walking."

Chase stops for a moment. "You can't do any more tests, but you want me to treat him?"

House nods. "The medicine's in the pharmacy, patient's immobilized in the ICU. Sounds like a simple geography problem."

Cameron scoffs. "Are you asking us to jeopardize our medical licenses for this treatment?"

Fifteen minutes later, in John's room, House enters with an IV drip. He starts to hook it up but John shakes his head. House ignores him and does it anyway. As he leaves, he runs into another doctor who he doesn't recognize. Still, he knows who the man is.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh, I'm Dr. House, I'm –"

"Greg, right? I'm Marty Hamilton, John Henry's doctor." He extends his hand, but House just looks at it. "We should talk."

House leads Dr. Hamilton back to his office. As House takes the spot behind his desk, Dr. Hamilton sits where Wilson usually does. After a bit of silence, Dr. Hamilton speaks.

"I'd appreciate any list of medications, anything like that."

"I've started him on Cytoxan."

"For Wegener's, right? Look, Greg. I checked you out, you know? I know you're a good doctor. You have to appreciate that I'm a good doctor, too."

"Why?" He asks a little harshly. _Don't call me Greg. You don't know me._

Hamilton only smiles. "Wegener's is one of the first things I looked for. The biopsy and the blood tests were negative, just like yours."

"There's an error rate, _Marty_."

"And there's a time to let go. Look, I'm gonna take him off the ventilator, and John Henry's gonna die. He's accepted that."

Foreman enters, immediately greeting Dr. Hamilton by first name. Marty does the same, jumping up to meet the younger teenager. They smile and hug long enough it turns into a double backslap. House looks on with raised eyebrows and interest.

"Listen, Marty, I'm sorry. I should have never put your patient on IVIG."

"It's not your fault, Eric."

House speaks up. "No, it's mine. _Eric_."

Hamilton denies this. "That's not what I said." He then turns to Foreman. "Everyone asks about you back in L.A."

"How's the old place doing?"

They start to chat. House rolls his eyes. "Oh, this is wonderful." They stop chatting, looking in his direction. "But before you guys break out the oil, I should point out you can't pull the plug; I have a court order."

"You used to, but –"

"I have the right to face my accuser. Judge said so."

"Not if no one's accusing you. All the charges have been dropped."

 _Damn it! How the hell does he know?_ "He doesn't have to die."

Foreman frowns. "It's not Wegener's."

At eight forty-five in John's hospital room, Cora, Hamilton, and the ducklings are gathered in his room. House and Wilson are watching through the glass walls.

 _Shit, shit, and double shit. I didn't need to go to court at all._ "If it's Wegener's, his lungs won't be able to handle it. As soon as they pull that plug he'll die."

 _He is taking this really hard. If he were normal, I'd be consoling him or hugging… this is House. He'd turn away at the first attempt getting closer._ "That's why they call it pulling the plug."

Inside the room, John nods. House turns away. Cora She kisses him on the cheek. John starts to cry a bit. The ducklings share nervous glances.

"I'm gonna miss you." Cora whispers.

Hamilton takes off the ventilator, and Foreman whips out his stethoscope.

"He's still breathing!"

Hamilton looks at a nearby monitor. "His 0-2 stats are holding."

"He's holding his own."

Wilson gasps. "He's still breathing."

"It's not Wegener's. Wrong again."

Relived yet angry with himself and frustrated from confusion, House stalks off to his office. Wilson follows close behind.

"He's stable, but one of his arms is now paralyzed."

"The real question is, why is he still alive?"

"Do you think he's just being stubborn?"

The ducklings enter. Foreman is first in, answering Wilson's question. "He's alive because you were wrong. It's not Wegener's."

House sits behind his desk. "Yeah, seem to be doing that a lot, lately." He watches as Wilson takes his normal seat. Foreman and Cameron stand. Chase leans against the desk. "People keep living because of my mistakes.

Cameron teeters on her feet. "Progression of the paralysis pretty much confirms Hamilton was right. It's ALS."

"Assuming this is a progression of his paralysis."

Chase throws his hands in the air. "He can't move his arm."

"Yes, his arm is paralyzed. Yes, his legs are paralyzed. Why is everyone so gung-ho to connect those two conditions? You could think I'm wrong, but that's no reason to stop thinking."

"How about this one?" Foreman ridicules. "He's not our patient."

"Nope, not good enough."

Cameron stills. "He could have suffered a stroke when he was intubated." Foreman looks at her, and she shrugs. "Well, blood clots are common in intubated patients. The inactivity causes –"

"Not interested in why. Let's get an MR-angiogram for an embolic stroke."

Foreman shouts. "He doesn't want you treating him!"

"They dropped the court order."

Wilson sides more with Foreman but he doesn't want House not to treat him. "Yeah, and that girl dropped the charges against Kobe. Doesn't mean that he should call her and see if she's free to get a sundae."

"Good point, but I can go within fifty feet of him now."

Hamilton has just left John's room, and the patient starts coughing. House, who had been hiding behind a column in the lobby, comes into the room. "Get outta here." He mumbles upon seeing House.

"Sure. That makes sense. You hate me for saving your life. In fairness to your side, you were also dying because of me, so –"

"You know I didn't wanna be saved."

"That's what's interesting. Your thyroid was low, but not low enough to cause depression."

"So, you came here to tell me that even if I can't walk I can still hear the birds sing? Enjoy the rainbow, and feeling the sunshine on my face?"

"Those things are fun. Okay, life sucks. Your life sucks more than most. It's not as bad as some, which is depressing all by itself. But do me a favor. Just let me find out what's wrong with you. And if you still want to kill yourself, I'll give you a hand. That sound fair?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll stick around to indulge your obsession. It's over. I lost my air. The session the other night, with those kids? That was a test to see if I could still play. I can't."

"And that's all you are? A musician?"

"I got one thing, same as you."

"Really? Apparently, you know me better than I know you."

"I know that limp. I know the empty ring finger. And that obsessive nature of yours, that's a big secret. You don't risk jail and your career just to save somebody who doesn't want to be saved unless you got something, anything, one thing. The reason normal people got wives and kids and hobbies, or whatever. That's because they don't got that one thing that hits them that hard and that true. I got music, you got this. The thing you think about all the time, the thing that keeps you south of normal. Yeah, makes us great, makes us the best. All we miss out on is everything else. No woman waiting at home after work with the drink and the kiss, that ain't gonna happen for us."

"That's why God made microwaves."

"Yeah, but when it's over, it's over."

"Yeah." House starts to walk to the door. Suddenly, he walks back and starts to undo the cords connecting John to the monitors.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not over for me. Either you're gonna call the cops again, or we're doing this."

He wheels John's bed out the door, and past the nurses' station. "If you wanna die, you can do it just as easily inside an MRI machine."

The nurses at the desk overhear this little comment and are looking at House like he's crazy. Meanwhile, Hamilton and Foreman are enjoying a dinner at a fancy restaurant. It is 9:30, after all. They've been catching up.

"So, I go back to L.A. I'm doing the Dana lectures again this year."

"Wow. That's quite an honor." Foreman looks up as their salads arrive.

Hamilton waves it off. "It's all political."

"To be honest, you've earned it."

"I got lucky on a couple studies I was doing. It all sells tickets. You remember last year's lectures, don't you?"

"I remember the bar afterwards." Eric jokes.

"The only reason to attend the thing: the bar and the pool." Eric laughs. "You enjoy working with Dr. House?"

"Not the word I'd use."

"We work too hard not to enjoy ourselves, right? Hmm. You seeing anybody?"

"Kinda sorta."

Hamilton raises an eyebrow. "Serious?"

"I don't know. Could be."

"You think she would enjoy L.A.?"

"Are you offering me a job?"

"You could look at it that way." Marty winks with a grin.

"I'll think about it."

At 10:15, Chase and Cameron are still in the hospital. They're working on the MRA when Foreman enters the lab.

"Hamilton offered me a job." He says by means of greeting.

Cameron questions without looking up, "You gonna take it?"

"I haven't decided."

"You already have the most prestigious fellowship."

"It's a partnership." He pauses as the two stop what they're doing. They look directly at him, waiting for him to continue. "Three times the money, car allowance, moving expense, pension plan, the chance to work for a guy who gives a crap what other people think."

Chase snorts. "So, why didn't you just tell him yes?"

"I made a commitment here."

"Right." Chase rolls his eyes, returning to the task at hand.

Cameron shrugs. "House would let you out of it in a heartbeat."

"Or he wouldn't, just to jerk me around. Would you guys have taken the job?"

"Don't need the money." Chase remarks.

"I'm not like you." Cameron also returns to her work. "I don't hate House."

"You guys really don't have a problem with him, with what he did?"

"He knows we disagree with his choice."

"Choice? Chase, it's not apples and oranges, it's right and wrong. And he does it like he doesn't care! He assaults the guy and moves on to the next differential diagnosis like it's nothing."

Cameron scoffs. "What do you want from him? More hand wringing, more torment? You want him to cry himself to sleep at night?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I want some clue that he knows it's a big deal. That it scares him, that it matters."

Chase looks at the screen, breaking the attention away from the abrasive argument. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's that?"

"It was a stroke!"

Chase smiles. "Well done, Cameron."

"House called it. The arm and legs are unrelated."

Foreman mopes. "You make enough calls, one of them is bound to be right."

Chase glares at the taller teen. "Yeah, he's just a lucky, lucky guy."

"Listen, listen, I just think it wouldn't hurt him to learn a little humility."

 _Humility? Is that what I need? Like I haven't had my fair share of it in this lifetime._ House walks in behind Foreman. "So, what's the verdict?"

Cameron points to the screen. "Embolus. The arm problem's caused by a clot."

Chase adds in, "There's a good chance we can still bust the clot with TPA."

"Do it. See what happens to his arm." He turns to the teen wanting him to learn humility. "You tell the musician."

At 10:45 in John's room, Cora and Hamilton are there as Foreman explains the situation.

"We found a blood clot in your brain. We'd like to start you on heparin, it's a blood thinner."

"What are the side effects?" John wants to know.

"Well, your lungs are kind of chewed up from the pneumonia. Good chance there'll be an effusion."

Cora gasps. "Bleeding?"

Hamilton frowns as well. "Into his lungs."

Foreman moans. "It's our best chance to give you back the use of your arm."

"I don't need my arm without my air."

"The damage would likely be minimal."

"No."

Foreman looks to Hamilton for help. Hamilton shrugs.

"It's his call."

Foreman bites his lip. "Or we could do an embolectomy." _Damn, I really am turning into House. Maybe this LA job wouldn't be the worst thing._ "Basically, we'd go in and pull the clot out."

Cora grimaces. "He's saying no to drugs and you're recommending _brain surgery_?"

Hamilton decides to take this time to point out, "Bypasses risk to the lungs."

Foreman nods. "It'll either help your arm, or –"

"Or it'll kill me." John finishes.

Foreman nods again. "From your point of view, it's a win-win."

"Okay."

"We'll set up the procedure for an hour from now."

At ten till midnight, Cameron and Chase are in the OR, performing the procedure. Wilson, Cora, Hamilton and Cuddy are in the observatory window. Hamilton seems to be consoling Cora, while Cuddy is paying more attention to the clock.

"We're in your carotid artery." Chase explains. "This is going to take us all the way up into your brain."

"You all right?" Cameron asks.

"Yes."

"The sludge is blocking the blood flow to the part of the brain that controls your arm." She explains as they finish up. "All done. You still okay?"

"I think so."

Meanwhile, House is in his office, talking to Foreman about the job.

"You really want to move?" _I know his parents won't mind. I'm sure they're just waiting for him to leave that house. And Hamilton'll probably let him shack up…_

"I don't know, I guess… It's just with Dr. Hamilton here, I notice a _difference_ in styles."

House nods, remembering Foreman's words from earlier. "His style involves humility. Another difference in our styles: I don't care much for apologies. You can go."

"I didn't know you were standing there when I said that, okay? It was completely rude."

"Do you mean genuine humility? You know, with all the self-doubt and the self-questioning, or Hamilton's polite, patronizing "Aw, shucks" humility?"

"You're both excellent doctors."

House raises an eyebrow. "Thank you. And humility is an important quality. Especially if you're wrong a lot."

"You've been wrong every step of the way."

"Of course, when you're right, self-doubt doesn't help anybody, does it?" His pager goes off. "We gotta go."

The clock chimes as they walk down the hall. It's midnight. It's a new day. House notices Cuddy standing off to the side in the hall as he and Foreman walk into John's room. Hamilton and Cora are there.

"Congratulations, Greg." Hamilton cheers.

"Congratulations…" He echoes him himself, while inwardly cringing at the over-familiar use of his first name. before speaking louder. "Why, _Marty_?"

Cora smiles. "John woke up, he can use his arm."

John demonstrates. "Thank you."

Hamilton smiles over to House. "Now look, I know we've had our differences, but I think when a person does something well it ought to be recognized."

House moves over to the bed, picking up the phone, and listens to the dial tone. "The phone works. Next time you want to make me feel all warm and fuzzy, leave a message." He taps John's leg, glancing to the man in question. "Don't get me wrong, I'm overcome with joy."

"Doc?" John calls out.

"Yeah?" Hamilton asks, at the same time House glances back with, "What?"

"You just touched my leg."

"What, you gonna charge me with assault again?"

John smiles shyly. "No, I _felt_ it."

Five minutes later, House is walking into the Diagnostic office with Chase and Wilson.

"He now has feeling all the way up to the calf. This is the way medicine evolved. Patients sometimes get better. You have no idea why, but unless you give a reason they won't pay you. Anybody notice if there's a full moon?"

"You're saying he just spontaneously got better?" Chase questions.

"No, I'm saying let's rule out the lunar god and go from there."

Wilson's eyes twinkle. "Something he's on is working."

While the three teens are discussing the case in the office, Hamilton and Foreman are walking in a different hallway. There aren't many people left in the hospital this late at night/early in the morning. Hamilton speaks first.

"The enzyme replacement protocol is working, reversing the ALS."

"The timing doesn't seem suspicious to you?"

"Heh heh, do you think Dr. House will see it that way? Figure it's his medication doing the job?"

"I'm sure he will."

Sure enough, in House's office that is what is being discussed.

"It's one of ours."

Chase groans. "How do we figure out which drug is doing the trick?"

"Easy. We stop all of them."

"One of those drugs is helping him."

"And the rest? Steroids, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories. They're toxic if we leave him on all of them."

"He'll walk again."

"Yeah, to his own funeral."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "But if we stop everything, he'll get worse."

"True. And then we'll add our medications back, one at a time. If he gets better, then we'll have our answer."

Chase scowls. "And if he doesn't get better?"

"Then we're in trouble. Not as much as he is. I suppose that was your point."

At twenty after midnight, House meets up with Cuddy in the hall.

"Happy un-birthday. You're nineteen and JHG's alive."

Cuddy sighs. "Thank you, House. Play nice. I'll be in my office."

"When do I not play nice?" He asks sarcastically.

She walks away without comment. House grins a bit, and then turns the corner to find Foreman heading his way. He holds up his cane to stop the younger teenager.

"I assume you want me to convince Hamilton to stop his treatments, too?"

"Don't care."

"You know at least five of the medications are part of his protocol?"

"If his stuff was helping the guy would be playing tennis six months ago. It's our round of treatment that's helping."

"Right. So that's what you'll stop."

Later, at one o'clock, Chase and Foreman are in the differential lounge. They're tired and taking a nap. Chase is secretly jealous of Cameron, whose mom called for her to come home last night. Wilson and House are watching House's TiVo-ed medical drama on the portable television in the clinic's exam room one.

"So your new philosophy is, "If they don't want treatment, they get it shoved down their throat, but if it might cure their paralysis, whoa, better slow down.""

"Yeah. My old philosophy used to be "Live and let live," but I'm taking this needlepoint class and they gave us these really big pillows."

"What's your philosophy on employee relations?"

 _Oh, God. It's too late for this. Or too early. Whatever._ "That's a very tiny pillow."

"Great. Sounds like you know what you're doing."

There's a knock on the door as Hamilton enters.

"Greg. Can I have a word?"

"Can it wait for the commercial, _Marty_? Say "hi" to my friend, _Jimmy_."

"Pleasure." Hamilton waves. "Your diagnostic trial –"

"Seriously, commercial's in about five minutes."

"- it's a dangerous game."

"Only if we're watching in the bathtub."

"I need to know exactly what medications you were giving John Henry."

"Forget it. And if Foreman tells you what John Henry used to be on –"

"You're gonna fire him?"

"Nope." House sneers hatefully. "Make him live out every day of his two-year contract."

Wilson finally breaks away from the TV. "Foreman asked to leave?"

"Not yet."

Hamilton looks shocked. "But how do you know I made him an –"

House jeers. "You're a polite twit, but you're not an idiot."

Hamilton glowers dejectedly. "I need to know what medications you've taken him off of."

"Wait a second. You're not an idiot. You need to know what medications I've stopped, because…"

House suddenly jumps up. His cane whacks the TV, and Wilson's reflexes allow him to not only catch the television – but also dodge his friend. House takes the elevator and rushes to John's room. House pokes John's leg, and then whacks it with a clipboard. There's no reaction. John doesn't wake up. He retreats to his office, slamming his cane on the table, alerting he ducklings.

"Come on. Right now, all of you still work here. Let's go."

The three are standing in the hall just outside of John Henry's room. Wilson has finally joined the team. House needs an emergency differential.

"No feeling, no wiggling. The bad news is, John Henry's back where he started. The good news is, Hamilton looks bad."

Foreman groans. "Yeah, it's not whether you win or lose, it's whether the other guy loses."

House ignores him. "What was the first thing we put him on?"

Chase thinks back. "Steroids, for the pneumonia."

"Well, put him back on them. Give them twelve hours, and see what happens."

Wilson frowns. "His lungs aren't great. It might cause another respiratory collapse."

"Sure hope not. I didn't much like that lawyer. And get an MRI."

"He already got one." Foreman shakes his head. "And an MRA."

"Well, obviously something is different now. Do it again. Chase, take care of the scan. Wilson, put him on the steroids." As they disperse, he turns to face Foreman. "We should probably talk, huh?"

John is soon going into the MRI, at 1:45 in the morning. Chase and Wilson are looking at the monitors behind the glass.

"Thin cuts." Chase yawns.

"What levels?"

"T9 through the quarter-equinus, same as the last time. You really think House would let Foreman out of his contract?"

Wilson shrugs. "He has to. If he doesn't, he's telling Foreman he needs him. House can't handle that." He looks closer to the screen. "Oh, my God!"

House and Foreman are in House's office.

"I checked him out. He's a great doctor. You think he's better than I am?"

"This about your ego?"

"Answer the damn question. It's not going to change my opinion of myself. Might affect my opinion of you, but that shouldn't affect your opinion of yourself. Now I'm getting confused. If you think he's a better doctor than I am, then you should take the job. Otherwise, you should get him to buy you two or three more nostalgic lunches and politely decline."

"It's that simple? I should just ignore the mockery and abuse?"

"Oh, how do I abuse you?"

"How do you not? If I make a mistake –"

"I hold you accountable, so what?"

"Dr. Hamilton forgives. He's capable of moving on."

"That is not what he does!" House yells. _God, how can you not see that?_

"I screwed up his case, he told me –"

"He never said you were forgiven." House cuts him off. "I was there, he said it wasn't your fault."

 _Whoa, that's weird. House's right. Well, that's not weird. But what he said is. Marty never did actually say I was forgiven. How did I miss that?_ "So?"

"So, it was. You took a chance, you did something great. You were wrong, but it was still great. You should feel great that it was great. You should feel like crap that it was wrong. That's the difference between him and me. He thinks you do your job, and what will be, will be. I think that what I do and what you do matters. He sleeps better at night. He shouldn't."

Wilson and Chase come running in. Wilson spills first.

"Arteriovenous malformation."

"Intramural, compressing his spine." Chase adds as he puts up the scans.

House looks up, impressed. "Causing his paralysis."

Foreman gawks. "How could Hamilton have missed an AVM?"

"Well, we missed it, too. 'Cause it wasn't there before."

"You saying it just grew overnight?" Wilson glances at his friend.

"No. It was on the spine, it wasn't on the MRI." He puts up and points to the scan from yesterday. "Same anatomic location."

Chase gasps. "It's not there."

"Well, what _is_ there?'"

Wilson frowns. "Nothing."

"Or something that _looks_ like nothing."

"Background noise, static."

"Scar tissue? Inflammation?"

Foreman shakes his head. "If it's inflammation, the steroids would have shrunk it down."

House bobs his head, biting back a yawn. "Revealing the AVM, which has always been there, hiding behind its own swelling. We remove that, he'll walk again."

Two hours later, at 4:15am, John is in the OR having his AVM removed. House has informed Cuddy. She's waiting inside the room with Cora. Foreman and Chase have been released to go home. Wilson is napping on his usual chair in House's office, while House is napping on the couch in Wilson's office. John finally wakes up at about 6:30. Cuddy and Cora are excited. Cuddy allows them to talk awhile before she introduces him to his new therapist. At 7:15, John and his new physical therapist work on his body. He stands for the first time in a long time. For the next ten hours, John Henry works on his now mobile body. Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Wilson and Cameron make it a point to see him through his progress.

At 5:30 in the afternoon, House is leaning against the check-in desk. He's got his Vicodin in his hand. John comes out of the elevator, walking with a cane, his trumpet under one arm.

"Dr. House!" He shouts with excitement. "Cora's meeting me outside with a limo. I'm being discharged."

House smirks. "Fifty bucks says I can beat you to the curb."

John laughs. "Thanks for sticking with the case."

"I can't do anything else." He takes the Vicodin. "You're much more easily amused when you can walk."

"How bizarre. I'm guessing you weren't exactly Mr. Sunshine even before your leg got messed up." John hands House his trumpet. "I want you to have this."

"Wow." House is shocked. _Huh. I wonder if this is what Wilson feels like with all those cancer kids' gifts._

"You can sell it if you want to, just promise me you won't play it." This makes House smile. "How many of those pills you taking?"

House's smile drops a little. "I'm in pain."

"Yeah. Aren't we all? So, where do you buy these things, do they have cane stores?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. You'll be jogging before you need a second one." Foreman comes out a side door. "See you tomorrow, Eric."

Foreman just shakes his head and leaves. John Henry smiles, also walking that way. Wilson comes over and signs out.

"You got a trumpet."

"It's a gift."

"Wait." Wilson smiles. "You got a gift from John Henry Giles? You got, he gave you his trumpet? That's, that's amazing. How do you feel?"

"I feel… like Chinese. How 'bout you, Jimmy?"

Wilson laughs. "Sounds great, House."

 **Aww… House got a gift from a patient, but he's still the same House. Okay, that was the last episode in January. This episode took place on either the seventeenth & eighteenth; or the eighteenth and nineteenth. Take your pick.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Aloha, Tanneritos! Well, I am back with 1.10 – Histories. I am so excited that people are reading this. I'm also excited that I was able to do it. I've been wanting to write some sort of rewrite for some shows of mine. Every time I do, though, they never seem to turn out right. This is the farthest I've ever come, and hopefully my procrastination and schoolwork won't get in the way.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

It's seven in the morning on Friday, February 1st. Wilson and Foreman are walking down the hospital hall to a room they've been paged to come.

Wilson holds the folder. "Homeless. Admitted 24 hours ago with a suspected drug overdose. Her tox screen's clean, but she's still delusional."

"Homeless, usually means crazy; no money. Cuddy's not going to like this –"

Wilson interrupts. "We're a teaching hospital. No ID. Doesn't even seem to know her name. I got called in because of some lesions on her arm."

"Homeless always means no roof, at least, there's too much sun."

"The lesions were non-cancerous, but I noticed a twitch. Her wrist."

The woman, temporarily called Jane (for Jane Doe) is lying in a hospital bed, with her wrist twitching. Foreman walks in and immediately pokes her finger on the opposite hand. Wilson stands in the background. Jane grunts.

"You feel that?"

"Sure. I'm human."

"Make a fist around my fingers, tight as you can. Squeeze."

Jane grasps weakly. "I am."

"Right." Foreman nods. "All right. Raise your arms above your head for me."

She raises her arms halfway before letting out a startled gasp. Her arms drop, and she starts seizing. Wilson instantly rushes forward, while Foreman just stands off to the side.

"She's seizing. Get me some Ativan."

Foreman shakes his head. "She doesn't want to be discharged. She's manipulating me."

Wilson holds up Jane's arm, but it snaps back and hits her face. "It's real. Check her finger sticks."

Foreman's eyes widen. "Blood sugar's 38."

A nurse rushes in with the Ativan. Wilson pulls her attention.

"I need D15. IV push stat."

Twenty minutes later, Jane is sedated. Foreman and Wilson walking down the hall toward the nurses' station. 

"Fake low blood sugar. Now that's acting."

Foreman rolls his eyes. "The blood sugar was real. But she's probably diabetic. OD'd on her own insulin." He pauses the conversation to talk to a nurse at the desk. "I need 2032. Do you have her effects out here?"

While waiting for said effects, he turns back to Wilson. "Look, a seizure buys her a place to sleep while the nice doctors run their tests, maybe a few free meals."

The nurse places Jane's bag on the counter, and Foreman look at it. "$20 says there's insulin in here." Wilson doesn't take the bet as Foreman opens the bag. He instead makes a disgusted face and turns away because of the stench. "Oh… put this back, please."

"What about the twitch?" Wilson asks, unaffected.

"Her arm moved."

"Why fake a twitch? In case the seizure was too subtle? A twitch could indicate a tumor, which could indicate–"

Foreman interrupts. "A need to see a neurologist, which is why you called me. Keep an eye on her until 2:00 PM, watch her blood sugar, give her a nice hot lunch, and discharge her."

Wilson just sighs and nods. Around ten, Wilson catches House in the hallway toward their offices. He's already texted House several times about Jane Doe and what Foreman said. 

"Hey, House."

"Wilson."

"So, uh, you get your messages?"

"About Big Love discharging Crazy Jane?"

"He's wrong."

"Foreman is wrong?" House mock gasps. "The neurologist is wrong, about a neurological problem?"

"He took one look at her and figured it was a scam."

"So, you figure he's not being objective"

Wilson is exasperated. "House, the woman had a twitch. She had a seizure."

"Both of which Foreman saw?"

"He just wanted her out the door!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up there, big fella. Foreman's the guy you want to take a swing at."

Wilson sighs irritated. "I - just - want her to get some medical attention."

House starts to look interested. "That's not even close to being true. Something else. Something personal." He pauses and holds out his hand. "Give me the file. Looks like this will be fun."

House heads for the conference room and pages Chase and Cameron. Wilson is already inside, sitting at the table and drinking a coffee. The two don't pay him much mind. Instead, they sit at the table and pull their focus to the white board.

"The twitch could be a mini-seizure, unrelated to the diabetes." Cameron offers.

"Brain tumor?" Chase suggests as Foreman enters the room.

House smirks. "Glad you could join us, Eric. What's the differential for a twitch in the wrist?"

Foreman glares at Wilson as he moves to the coffee machine. "The patient's a thirty-ish Jane Doe. I just thought I'd _discharge_ her."

Wilson glares back, much to House's amusement. "Well, she's _my_ patient. No harm in a second opinion."

Chase doesn't notice. "A blow to the head? A subdural hematoma?"

"Read the file, no evidence of cranial trauma."

Cameron ignores his hostility. "A twitch could indicate a brain tumor"

Foreman groans. "Or about a dozen other things. Come on, there's two things homeless people are good at – getting sick, and running scams. If you're so worried about it being a brain tumor, get her an MRI, when she's clear on that, then you can bounce her out of here. "

Wilson sighs bitterly. "Well, you've got her all figured out."

Foreman sits down with his coffee and flips open a magazine. "I've known a lot more homeless people than you have." 

"Yes, you've got that going for you. How could I have doubted your medical opinion?"

House interrupts their argument by dropping Jane's smelly bag on the table. "The big question, you're missing it, all of you."

Foreman gags. "Oh, geez." 

"Who is she?"

Foreman throws his hands up, watching as Chase, Cameron and Wilson edge away from the table. "Okay. Why are we on this case – just because Wilson asked?"

Wilson opens mouth in protest, but House beats him to it.

 _Yeah, that's pretty much it. There's something personal between him and this case. Obviously I wanna know what's up._ "Do I need a better reason?"

"Most people wouldn't, you do."

House answers by unceremoniously dumping the contents of the smelly bag onto the table. He backs off, tossing the bag to the floor. Everyone else also turns away in disgust, standing around the table.

"The only thing we know for sure about Jane Doe is that her name isn't Jane Doe. Which means no medical history. Allergies, medication, previous diagnoses, treatment – we have no baseline, no context for medical treatment."

Foreman tentatively holds up a needle, glaring again at Wilson. "Wow. Looks just like insulin."

House holds up a sweater with an degrading stain over it. "Vomit. Still moist." He sniffs it and then thrusts it into Chase's face. "What do you think - a couple of days old?"

Chase moves away immediately, almost crashing into Wilson. "Uhhh… trying to make me hurl?"

House drops the sweater back onto the table. "Yeah. And here's the big finish…"

He licks his fingers. Chase and Foreman move away. Cameron makes a disturbed muffled noise, as if she's about to be sick.

"Salty. Chemical imbalance."

Wilson isn't the least disturbed, knowing House for so long. "Low magnesium could cause a twitch."

House shrugs. "Or high calcium. Or it's a coincidence. The point is, we don't know anything."

Foreman is exasperated now. "So do the MRI. Find out –"

"The MRI can wait. Hang a banana bag, give her 24 hours to correct the electrolyte imbalance, we'll take it from there."

"Great. Thanks." Wilson nods and leaves.

House and Foreman exchange glances, and Chase and Cameron leave.

 _There is something seriously up here._ "Okay. Even if she's not faking, what's so fascinating about this case?"

 _Wilson makes me want to take it._ "At the moment, how much you don't want me to take it. That's pretty fascinating."

In Jane's hospital room, she's sketching a picture of Foreman and herself, with a bubble over his head that reads 'Where's James'. Chase is attaching the banana bag, while Foreman adjusts the monitor readings in the background.

"Nice likeness of Dr. Foreman." Chase compliments. "In fact, he's never looked better."

Jane glances at Foreman. "He doesn't like me. I can tell."

Chase smiles. "That's okay. He doesn't like me either. Who's James?"

Jane suddenly reaches for face. "Ow! Oh!"

Chase is alert. "Pain in your head?"

Jane thrashes about, knocking away lunch tray. "Get away from me."

Foreman races forward. "All right, let's get it out. One milligram of Ativan, push."

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" Jane bites Foreman's arm as he reaches across the bed.

Foreman pulls back in alarm. "She bit me!"

Chase scoffs, watching Foreman clutch his arm and back away. "Good news is, she's negative for HIV and hep-C."

"Yeah? Well, I'm getting a tetanus shot, she's getting an MRI."

"There's a two day wait for non-emergency MRIs."

"She's getting an MRI." Foreman snaps. "And then she's out of here."

He leaves the room. He rushes to the nurses' station, where a well-off patient is waiting in a wheelchair. She is demanding assistance.

"Now Dr. Terharg specifically said I'd have the MRI at 10:00, it's almost 11:00, and I haven't even had the pretest yet."

"Sorry, we're a little backed up." Nurse Abigail doesn't sound sorry at all.

The patient sighs in anger as Foreman walks up, looking at slip of paper. "Excuse me, you're Dr. Terharg's 10:00?"

"I'm Angela Whitney. I'm meeting my decorator at 11:30, she's coming all the way from New York. Dr. Terharg promised I'd be home in time."

"Of course." He responds with false sincerity, wheeling Angela away. As he does so, he trades a slip of paper with one Chase is holding as he walks past in the opposite direction, wheeling Jane. Jane has been settled into the MRI as Foreman and the technician watch on. Cuddy walks up behind them.

"She's just about prepped for her MRI? Mrs. Whitney?"

The MRI shuts off abruptly. Thirty minutes later, Jane is back in her room with Chase keeping guard. House and Foreman are waiting in front of Cuddy's desk in her office. Foreman is fidgeting while House examines her letter opener.

"You tried to steal someone else's test?" She is angry.

Foreman tries to explain himself. "Dr. Terharg is a plastic surgeon. The woman was getting a six-month checkup on a chin implant."

Cuddy grabs letter opener from House. "I can't believe you authorized this."

 _Yeah, I know. Must be because I didn't._ "Really? Sounds exactly like something I'd do."

Cuddy shakes her head. "She can't have an MRI. The CT scan shows she has a surgical pin in her arm, the MRI magnet would have ripped it out of her body. You like the Alien movies? You had no medical history, what were you thinking?"

"We'll surgically remove the pin, and then do the MRI, does that sound good?"

"She has an electrolyte imbalance." Cuddy frowns.

"Dr. Foreman, a neurologist, believes this woman has a brain tumor."

"Actually, I –"

House glares at Foreman, cutting him off. "Hey, don't ever apologize for a medical opinion." He looks over to Cuddy. "If he's right, we don't do this test, the patient dies. Now I realize that you have a specialty of your own, but does yours have anything to do with the brain? His does."

"Fine. But nothing more until you find out who she is."

"How are we supposed to –"

"Hey! He knows more homeless people than any of us." Cuddy and Foreman grimace. "Go check out the 'hood, dawg."

It's noon and Foreman is showing Jane's sketches to a homeless man, as well as her actual picture profile. He is at a storefront that Jane drew. 

"I don't know. I've seen a lot of faces around here but I don't think I know her."

"Great."

"Hey, I ah, like that jacket. Yeah, it's all coming to me now. I know where she keeps her stuff."

The homeless man puts on Foreman's jacket, and gestures to where Jane stays. Foreman starts to lift the tarp covering the box where Jane has been living. Bats screech and fly out at him. He backs away quickly. The homeless man chuckles.

"Just bats." Foreman looks at him incredulously. The homeless man looks down at his new jacket. "I thought the lining would be thicker."

Foreman spends the rest of his time searching through Jane's things. By 12:45, Foreman walks into House's office with Chase and Cameron waiting.

Cameron frowns. "No tumor, nothing. Her brain is clear."

Chase sighs as well. "Which means, that girl had surgery just so you wouldn't get reamed out by Cuddy."

Wilson enters, hearing the last bit. "Not necessarily, there could still be something neurological going on."

Foreman groans. "Sure, she's not conning us; the MRI is."

House enters, staring at Foreman. "Not wearing a coat in this weather. That is so wrong."

"She drew these." Foreman lays down several hand-drawn comic books out on table. "They might give us a clue."

House picks one up. "She sign them? Her name would be a start."

"All the mythology, the locations, they're all dependant on life experience."

House holds up a comic book and looks at it. "Philadelphia. Look at that skyline! It's very evocative. The Chrysler Building."

The ducklings move in to see that House is looking at a picture of a slightly surreal looking desert landscape.

Foreman points to something. "That's a cloud."

Cameron frowns. "And the Chrysler Building's in New York."

House shakes his head. "Mmm… I'm getting Philly. And that cactus, well, that's a smashed car – car accident."

Cameron doesn't sound convinced. "A cactus in Philadelphia?"

"Water – well, water's October, right?"

Wilson goes along with whatever House is saying. "Obviously."

"On the page number 22, so that's October 2nd, 2002. Ergo, the patient was in a car accident two years ago last October."

Quite calmly, Wilson gasps. "My goodness! Was she okay?"

House squints. "Broke her arm, I think. They fixed it – with this." He ends his rant by holding up a metal pin.

The ducklings look relieved to have an explanation.

"Surgical pin. Better than a wallet. Serial numbers in case of recall, tied to a patient's name."

Foreman sighs. " _That's_ why you insisted on the MRI. So you could remove the surgical pin from her arm."

House snorts. "You didn't think I was going to do it to save your sorry ass, did you?" The ducklings hear sounds of a fax coming through. "You might want to take a look at that. Her name is Victoria Matson, at least that's the one she used then. Any hospital with the record of treating her should be sending that information."

Foreman looks at the fax. "Oh, crap!"

The ducklings are suddenly racing down hall.

"Her blood work came back an hour ago; magnesium was normal."

"Did you change her banana bag?"

"Stopped the magnesium, started iron dextrin for severe anemia. She's allergic to iron dextrin!"

They rush into Jane-now-known-as-Victoria's room. All sorts of things are beeping; Victoria is gasping for breath.

Chase is at her side, turning to Cameron as he checks Victoria's pulse. "Grab some Epi off the code cart. Respiratory arrest, call the code!"

Foreman is on the other side, trying to get Victoria to speak. "You have an allergic reaction, can you speak?"

Victoria continues to gasp, and Chase shakes his head. "She's not getting any air. Got the Epi."

Cameron hands it over, and Chase gives Victoria the shot in her arm.

Cameron's voice is panicked. "Stats down in the 80s and dropping."

Chase attaches an oxygen mask. "We have about another minute."

Back in the conference room an hour later, Foreman slumps in a seat.

"Well, we got her sedated and stabilized."

House, leaning against a vanity table, raises an eyebrow. "And we still think there's nothing wrong with her?"

"Well, nothing's changed."

"We almost killed her – that's different. And we know who she is."

Cameron is sitting beside Foreman. "So far we've heard from three hospitals with records of Victoria Matson. Seven visits, going back two years."

Wilson is sitting at the front of the table, closer to House. "Any home addresses?"

Cameron sighs. "The pin in her arm went in during an ER visit. She wasn't conscious, so they didn't get an address. The other visits she gave fake addresses."

"Any treatment for neurological problems, anything that might explain the twitch?"

"Last winter, Jefferson Hospital in Philly, got treated for frostbite."

Foreman mutters to himself. "Baby, it's cold outside."

Cameron ignores him. "And depression. They put her on Prozac."

Wilson hits the table. "Well, I'd be bummed out too. Zero degrees, living in a box."

"Put her back on it. She cheers up; she might stop biting people."

Chase is sitting between Cameron and Wilson. "There's a billing record from Hartman Hospital last year. Two appointments, ultrasounds; doesn't say what for."

Foreman sips his now-cold coffee. "Pregnant?"

"Only if she was expecting an elephant. The appointments were ten months apart. Kept the first, blew off the second."

Wilson nods. "Abdominal pain."

"The chart doesn't say –"

Wilson interrupts. "Wait a minute. She goes in the first time, they look, and they can't find anything. Ten months later, why should she subject herself to that again?"

Foreman nods now. "Why make a second appointment?"

"She didn't. The nurse made the appointment. They were looking – they were looking for ovarian cancer."

Chase snorts. Foreman shakes his head as well. "You got all of that from one cancelled appointment? That's almost as bad as a car wreck from a comic book desert storm."

Wilson ignores the last bit. "With Jerry Lousing, yeah. He's an oncologist."

Chase grabs a page from the file. "Hang on, her current blood work doesn't show cancer. CA125 is normal."

Foreman nods. "And the cancer wouldn't account for the alleged twitch, or any other of her alleged symptoms."

House stands up. "Actually, it would. Neoplastic Syndrome associated with the cancer could cause her to twitch like a bunny on crystal meth. Ultrasound her ovaries."

Two hours later, Cuddy and House are walking down hall toward the clinic.

"Did you find a brain tumor on her MRI?"

"No. Foreman was wrong. I'm starting to wonder about that guy's medical chops."

"Right." She rolls her eyes, stopping at the clinic waiting room. She looks down at the name on the check-in sheet. "Shelley Diamond?"

A lady holding one child and surrounded by others looks up. "Yes?"

"Dr. House is ready to see you now." She hands House the file.

"The little ones are licking each other again, and Harry's got a seeping wart on his extra toe. What room should we go to?"

 _Holy shit. No way in hell is Cuddy leaving me with these sticky beasts._ House issues a fake sneeze. "You know, I think I might be coming down with something. Hate to give it to you guys. Sorry."

He starts walking toward exit as Cuddy calls out, "Oh yeah. Just walk out, like I'm not going to do anything."

"Bye-bye." He waves over his shoulder as he leaves the clinic. He heads directly for his office, propping his feet on the desk. He's flipping through the pages from Victoria's portfolio, which have been put together to form a comic book. Foreman enters.

"Working hard?"

House doesn't look up. "This stuff's pretty good. Calendrica, works for the counseled genius. Bad guy's Mr. Fury, fairly generic, no special skills, but apparently very well organized. Think you work hard, try ruling the universe."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You trying to teach me something here?"

"We've got the flowing dress, the ring. Think the patient was married? Maybe it was a bad break up, maybe he dumped her cause she was on drugs."

"You care about her personal history?"

"Nope. Question is, why don't you?" Foreman looks away. "I hate to cite a cliché, but – Dad on the streets?"

Foreman laughs sullenly. "Dad's with Mom."

"They're both living on the streets?"

"No! On a pension."

"So who pissed you off?"

"Pfft. Right now, you."

House sets aside the comic, watching as Foreman joins the other ducklings in the conference room. An hour later, at 5:30, House and Wilson are strolling down the hall.

"Your turn, you gonna tell me why this case?"

"She's my new girlfriend, I'm having a tattoo designed, and I was hoping you could find out her name."

 _Hmm… should I read into him talking about a new girlfriend? Did Julie cheat on him?_ "So she's just another sick person the kindly Dr. Wilson has made sure doesn't get lost in the big ugly system."

"Yes, I forgot, I need a reason to give a crap."

"You're giving two craps."

Wilson shakes his head. "The metric system always confuses me."

Cuddy walks up with two girls, who graduated with them, wearing lab coats. "Dr. House."

"Time for Girl Scout cookies already?"

Wilson smirks, as he turns to leave. "Get me some Thin Mints."

Cuddy pays no mind to that remark. "Since you're too sick to work in the clinic –"

House makes show out of stifling pretend sneeze. "Okay?"

"– I thought you –"

House sneezes loudly, causing one girl to back away slightly. 

"- I thought you could do some teaching. Patient histories."

"My specialty."

"When you teach, you learn so much, don't you think?"

"It's all about the giving back." Cuddy walks off, and House turns to girls. "Good old Cuddy. Always thinking. She assign you a patient to interview?"

He reaches for pills and the girls nod.

"Then why are you still here?"

The girls share looks of dawning realization, and they turn to go. House pops a Vicodin. Meanwhile, Cameron and Chase are in Victoria's room. Cameron is smearing jelly on an unconscious Victoria for an ultrasound.

"Why are we on this case?" Chase asks.

"Because Wilson asked House to do him a favor."

"I think House just wants to prove she's sick so Foreman will be wrong."

Cameron sighs. "Oh, you boys."

"Hey, I'm just doing my job." He looks at the ultrasound. "Whoa. Foreman's going to be so embarrassed when he finds out she's got cancer."

At six, House is sitting in the clinic, looking at files. Wilson walks up. 

"Oh. I thought you were too sick to be down here."

"Had to get away from those girl so I faked a page. You know Cuddy sicced Miranda and Cassie on me?" He asks as he flips through file. "Foreman's parents, happily married, 40 years."

"Mazel Tov. _They_ want to be doctors?"

"Keinahora. It's college credit. So, why does he hate homeless people? If it's an uncle or a grandparent you'd think he'd use it in his college application essay. Family struggles beats a 4.0 GPA any day."

"Makes more sense than those girls actually _wanting_ to be doctors. I think Foreman _has_ a 4.0."

"Maybe he's just a snob."

"You really don't need to know everything about everybody."

"I don't need to watch the OC, but it makes me feel good."

"Yeah, delirious. What's the other file?"

"Wilson, James. Boy wonder oncologist. You know him?"

Wilson rolls his eyes. "You know, in some cultures, it's considered almost rude for one friend to spy on another. Of course, in Swedish, the word friend can also be translated as 'limping twerp'."

House's pager starts to beep. He looks it over and stands.

"Did your pager really just go off, or are you ditching the conversation?"

"Why can't both be true? Come on."

Cameron has been called home, and the rest of the team is checking out Victoria's sonogram. 

"Solid non-cystic mass on the left ovary." Wilson gapes. "Five by three centimeters, central necrosis. The only question is whether she dies in two months or three."

Foreman is not pleased. "Oh, God."

"You were right. There's nothing we can do for her here. Might as well put her back on the street."

House makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Unless it's not cancer."

Chase gawks at him. "Oh, you're joking."

House rolls his eyes. "Well, hard not to – nothing funnier than cancer. But what if it's a tuberculoma. She's living out on the streets, breathing all kinds of crap 24/7. The odds are she's got TB, why can't she have a nice benign growth to go with it?"

Wilson shakes his head. "A solid mass on her ovary. Ovarian cancer's way more likely."

"You're right. It's not even close. Start her on INH, Rifampicin and Streptomycin."

Chase squints his eyes. "But that's the treatment for a tuberculoma."

"And what is the treatment for advanced ovarian cancer?" No one answers, so House answers for them. "Pine box."

It is 6:45 in Victoria's hospital room. She's sketching Foreman, who is standing nearby.

"What are you giving me?"

"A second dose of some antibiotics. If you've got a tuberculoma, it should help."

"I don't have a tuberculoma, do I?"

Foreman sighs. "Probably not. Listen – I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Victoria looks back down at her sketch. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I took too much insulin on purpose; I really wanted a place to sleep."

Foreman nods and looks down at sketch. "Were you ever – married, Victoria?" Victoria shakes her head. 'But in the comic –"

"No, it's a comic, comics are just made up."

"So who's James? Is he real, or did you make him up?"

"He's real."

"Can I help you find him?"

Victoria looks up at Foreman, but then her attention turns to the window. "The – the light's bright – it's getting brighter –" She holds up arms to protect face. "– ow, ow!"

"Take it easy, take it easy, everything's fine."

"Mr. Fury wants to hurt me, please, help me!"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on…" He grabs a thermometer and puts it in Victoria's ear.

"– turn it off – please turn off the –"

Foreman looks at thermometer, which reads 105. "All right, hold on Victoria." He rushes over to close the blinds and turn off the light. "Take it easy, everything's fine. Take it easy, everything's fine, Victoria." 

"I'm burning! It's burning!"

Foreman gets a glass of water. "Hold on. Take a sip, take a sip."

Victoria instead knocks the water away. "It's poison, you gave me poison!"

Foreman grabs a needle. "Hold on. Take it easy."

Nurse Brenda rushes in and flips on light switch. Victoria screams in response.

Foreman snaps at her. "Hey, turn off that damn light!"

"Help me, help me, please!"

Foreman injects her. "Take it easy, take it easy. The bad guys can't get you here, I've got you covered."

Victoria wails. "Mr. Fury's not the bad guy, I'm the bad guy, it's me, I'm the bad guy…"

Fifteen minutes later, at 7:15, Foreman walks into House's office. House is sitting at his desk.

"It's not a tuberculoma. Can't be."

"I didn't know the biopsy was back." House remarks sarcastically.

"Her temperature's 105. Treatment's not working, it's cancer. She's dying."

House leans back in his chair. "105…"

Chase runs in suddenly. "Good news! It's a tuberculoma."

"How do you figure that? Her temp's through the roof."

Chase holds up a piece of paper. "It's the lab results from the biopsy, it's definitely a tuberculoma."

House takes the paper and looks at the test results. "So – we're right about the diagnosis, and the treatment for that diagnosis is killing her. Perfect."

He calls Wilson to join them in the conference room. While waiting for him, Chase is persistent that it's a tuberculoma. Foreman doesn't believe it.

"The lab checked the biopsy again, twice."

"Well, a tuberculoma doesn't give you a temperature of 105."

"Then it's a tuberculoma and something else."

Wilson enters the room, hearing Chase. "The something else is gonna to melt her brain."

"Poach." House shrugs. "Better metaphor."

"A fever that high has to be bacterial." Wilson returns to the topic at hand.

"Maybe the bowel got nicked in the biopsy."

"I did the biopsy – no nick! She could have picked up an infection on the streets."

"Well, she didn't have a fever when I admitted her!"

"The Prozac we've given her could have triggered Serotonin Syndrome, which would explain the fever."

Wilson disagrees wholeheartedly. "No! Jefferson put her on Prozac, and it wasn't a problem."

"She probably never took it! Most likely they saw her one time and dumped her out of the ER with a script."

Wilson glowers at him. "Oh, just like you were going to do!"

House faces everyone, hands on the table. "Okay you two, grab some scalpels and settle this like doctors. Send blood and urine cultures and get a chest x-ray. And fine, take her off Prozac and put her on Bromocryptin for the Serotonin syndrome." 

"Might want to get her in an ice bath as well, assuming we want her to live long enough to see those test results." Chase remarks dryly.

Half an hour later, the nurses are pouring buckets of ice into a metal tub. Victoria lies nearby on a stretcher. She's whimpering at Foreman, who's standing by.

"I said I was sorry."

"Your fever's 105. If we don't bring it down fast –"

"Foreman, why are you doing this to me?" She cries.

"We're saving your life. Hey, come on – you can do this."

The nurses pick Victoria up and put her in the ice bath. She screams and wails as though the ice is killing her. Foreman stands beside the tub, feeling sick to his stomach as Victoria cries out for him to help her. At eight o'clock, House is reading Victoria's comic book. Miranda and Cassie have met up in front of his desk.

"Seventeen-year-old female presents with abrasions and apparent trauma injury to her wrist – Dr. House?" Miranda pauses.

"Continue." He flicks his wrist, not looking up.

"You're reading a comic book."

"And you're calling attention to your breasts by wearing a low-cut top." He looks up this time. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were having a state-the-obvious contest. Thought you knew. I'm competitive by nature."

Cassie frowns. "I thought you were supposed to be listening to our patient histories."

"Nope. I'm supposed to be teaching you. If I can do that without listening, more power to me."

Cassie starts reading. "Seventeen-year-old female –"

House interrupts, pointing at a character in the comic. "This guy's supposed to have universal power over all of gravity; how come his hair won't stay down? That's just stupid."

Cassie continues. "– she fell off her horse while riding in the county fair."

Miranda disagrees. "No, she didn't, she fell off the steps of her beach house, you must have gone to the wrong room."

"Hard to believe that one patient could slip past Cuddy and get herself admitted with a sprained wrist. Two seems almost impossible - what room?"

The girls speak simultaneously. "Room 2106." They look at each other in confusion.

"Patients lie. But usually only one lie at a time; how much does she weigh?"

Miranda speaks first. "It's her wrist not her –"

"Poundage, ladies, and by the by, what color is her nose?"

"She's thin –"

"Flesh toned." Cassie remarks about the nose color.

Miranda huffs. "What does this have to do with her wrist?"

House's pager goes off. "Almost nothing. She's either under 90 pounds, or she has a red nose. I gotta go."

Miranda presses. "What's wrong with her?"

"That would be telling." He eyes the girls with an evil smirk. "Oh, I am just too nice. It starts with 'C'." He drops a heavy medical dictionary on desk as he leaves.

At 8:30, the team (aside from Cameron) is assembled in the diagnostics lounge.

"Urine cultures are negative." Chase announces.

Foreman sighs. "So's the chest x-ray."

"I assume there's a positive coming."

Chase waves. "Lumbar punctures revealed elevated proteins and white counts."

Wilson raises an eyebrow. "CSF cultures?"

Foreman groans. "Still growing. Nothing on Gram Stain. It looks like meningitis."

Chase blinks. "We know it's definitely an infection. And we know where it is."

"Well, meningitis is nice and simple. Get her in isolation and start her on Ceftriaxone. Either she gets better or she dies." The ducklings get up and walk toward door. "Let me know which one happens!"

Wilson and the ducklings enter Victoria's room, but they stop as soon as they enter. Victoria is missing. The sheets are rumpled as if she made a hasty exit.

"Oh my God. She was sedated." Wilson stands still.

Chase grumbles, "It must have worn off."

Foreman denies this. "I – I did it myself, a half hour ago."

Chase gawks. "I'll check the nurse's station."

He runs out to do so. Foreman and Wilson walk over to the wall, where Victoria has drawn several comic panels. One of the comics is a character wandering down a city street crying 'James' in a bubble.

"She's gonna die out there."

At nine o'clock, the team is crowded in Cuddy's office. She had been planning to leave for the night, but the team is giving her second thoughts. Wilson and Foreman are in front of her desk, arguing over Victoria.

"You don't walk out of a room with ten milligrams of Haldol in your system. In fact, you don't walk at all."

"It was ten milligrams, I gave it to her –"

Cuddy interrupts. "It doesn't matter! Bacterial meningitis, highly contagious; if she is out of the hospital, we are so liable."

"Not to worry." Wilson mumbles under his breath. "She'll be dead before she can kill anybody."

Chase is standing at an end of her desk. "Security tape confirms it, she stole some clothes and she's gone."

Foreman grabs a coat and heads toward the door.

House is at the other end of Cuddy's desk. He calls after the fifteen-year-old. "Wrong coat. The cape's in the closet, I had it cleaned."

"Funny." He rolls his eyes.

"You gonna save her?" House asks in a more serious tone.

"In her comics, Mr. Fury lives in Sloan Harbor. The night she came in, she was at a rave at 1408 Sloan Street."

"You've been reading. My, how you've changed."

Cuddy doesn't believe this. "You are a doctor; do what doctors do. Pick up the phone, dial 911 and a cop on the other end does what cops do and finds the missing person!" House raises eyebrows, and Foreman takes off the coat. "I assume the rest of you have doctor things to do," She pauses, eyes resting on House. "I know you do."

Twenty minutes later, House is walking down the hall. Miranda and Cassie are trailing behind him, listing off possibilities.

"Cacchi-Ricci disease."

"Do you even know what that is, or are you just guessing everything that starts with 'C'?"

"The kidney problems could result in weight loss." Cassie justifies her response.

"Cacchi – C-A-C- she's going alphabetically."

Miranda eyes something different about House's apparel. "Doctor, why are you wearing that bird pin?"

"It sets off my eyes." He smiles at their confused looks, and he enters room with the patient. The girls also walk in. "Hi, Jodi, I'm Dr. House. What brings you to the hospital?"

"My wrist."

"How did that happen?"

She glances from Miranda's clipboard to House's pin. "I was riding the Ferris wheel and this huge seagull flew right at me."

House mocks a gasp. "How horrifying."

"I swung my arm at the bird, but I hit the Ferris wheel."

House turns to face the girls with a matter-of-fact grin. Cassie's jaw drops.

"She's making it all up?" 

"No, her wrist really does hurt."

"I'm not lying." Jodi protests.

House rolls his eyes. "Of course you are. You have no idea what happened. You have no memory." House exits the room with the girls. "Korsakoff's syndrome. Excessive drinking or insufficient diet damages her brain; pretty obviously the latter. She has no new memories, no new ideas, can't even process that idea. So her brain fills the gaps as best it can using visual clues. The horse on your shirt led her to the riding accident and the surf scene on your clipboard led her to the beach."

Cassie huffs. "Korsakoff doesn't start with a 'C'."

"I didn't say 'C'. Or did I? Lesson to be learned – treat everybody as if they have Korsakoff's, we all lie anyway. Give her Thiamine right away, she'll bounce back pretty quickly. And then get her to eat some cake and ice cream."

Miranda opens her mouth but quickly closes it. House notices as waves for her to continue.

"Did you need to be so cruel? I think she's crying."

House rolls his eyes but goes back into patient's room. Cassie quirks an eyebrow to Miranda, watching it unfold.

"Hi! Jodi, I'm Dr. House. What happened to your wrist?"

"There was this weird older guy, he had a cane –"

"See?" House cuts her off, grinning to the other girls. "It's like it never happened. Perfect forgiveness."

It's 9:45, as the Emergency Room doors slam open. EMTs are wheeling Victoria in on a stretcher. Her pulse is rapid. Foreman is racing in step.

"You got a temp?"

An EMT looks up. "Don't know. She's warm, but –"

"That's something to look into; she has meningitis." 

"Sorry, I was more worried about her heart blowing up. Pulse is one-fifty."

"Rhythm regular?"

"Yeah."

They move Victoria from the stretcher to a gurney. Foreman leaves her side to talk with the policeman who'd brought her in.

"Where'd you find her?"

"Battlefield State Park."

"Narrow Complex? She wasn't at Sloan?"

"She was just passed out on the grass."

Victoria mutters, her voice getting louder. "Foreman… I need Foreman."

"All right. Super ventricular tachycardias. Get me Adenosine, one milligram, push. Thank you." He gives her the injection. "Hang in there."

He looks back and forth between the monitor and Victoria while she stabilizes. It's ten o'clock once they've got her settled in her old room. Foreman enters the conference room where the rest are already gathered.

"Her arrhythmia stabilized."

Chase yawns. "It doesn't make sense. What would push her heart rate over one-fifty? Dehydration? Fever?"

Wilson shakes his head, also tired. "Unlikely. By themselves, neither one would do it."

Foreman purses his lips. "We must be wrong about the meningitis. Maybe it's structural heart disease."

House stifles a yawn. "Her heart rate dropped when you administered the Adenosine."

"Two seconds."

"It's still meningitis."

"If it is, with the delay in treatment, she's got almost no chance."

"Start the treatment."

Ten minutes later, House and the policeman – Detective Jordan – are standing outside the nurses' station. Det. Jordan is flipping through a notepad.

"Read the report. I found her lying on the grass."

"You should read my reports. I make up stuff all the time. What really happened?"

"Oh, since it's you… I found her lying on the grass."

House pouts. "Wow. That is a great looking gun."

Jordan rolls his eyes. "It's not a gun. It's a tazer."

"It's so cool looking. What does it do? Fire about 60,000 volts? At least, that's what it would take to jack someone's heart up to one-fifties."

"Okay. Okay. Let's just say I tell you what happened. This stays between you and me, right? I found her. Lying. On the. Grass."

"Fine." He growls, reaching into his jacket. "Don't tell me. Tell my friend, Ben Franklin."

He then holds up $100 bill, and sets it on the counter. Jordan just stares at it. After a moment or two of silence, Jordan discreetly takes the bribe. He doesn't meet House's accusatory gaze, but he taps the tazer on his belt and nods. In her room, Victoria is lying in bed, unconscious. Foreman is checking her heartbeat. House walks in.

"The good news is, the heart rate thing's not connected to her condition."

"Well then, she's dying. The meningitis treatment isn't helping her, she's getting worse."

"Well, that brings us to the bad news. The cop tasered her."

Foreman snorts in anger. "Jerk. Probably couldn't get to his real gun fast enough."

"The first time he hit her in the thigh, and she just kept going, like it was nothing. Right about here." House pokes her with a needle. "She didn't feel the taser." He pulls down sheets and pokes her toe with the same needle. She unconsciously jumps.

"Localized numbness?"

"Yeah, in that one spot." House discards the needle and grabs a cotton swab.

"The diabetes?" 

"I don't think so." He takes swab of Victoria's mouth.

"No alcohol. Not entrapment syndrome. Can't be a vitamin deficiency. We can't chase down every sensory neuropathy."

House grabs another syringe and nods to the bandage on Foreman's forearm. "Is that where she bit you?"

"Yeah."

Foreman looks back at Victoria, and House jabs him with the needle, through the bandage. Foreman doesn't feel it, but he turns back to see a needle sticking out of his arm.

"What the hell?!"

"Can't get angry if you don't feel anything."

10:30 at night, and the team in the lab. House is putting the swab in to test. The team is anxious.

"First there's localized numbness, then sensitivity to light, disorientation, paranoia, ineffectiveness of sedatives, and then hydrophobia. Fear of water."

Foreman stares. "Rabies."

Chase yawns again. "There've only been, what, twenty cases in the last ten years?"

"Yeah. That's because non-homeless people, when they get bitten, they get shots."

"There were bats."

Wilson closes eyes when the machine beeps. He sharply intakes his breath as he opens them and reads the test results. "She's dying."

Everyone is silent for the next minute, and Chase breaks it solemnly.

"There's no treatment."

Quietly, Foreman asks. "How much time does she have?" 

"A day, maybe two. And if you don't get your shot in, say, the next three hours, I'm going to have to make another affirmative action hire."

Wilson nudges Foreman. "Come on."

A few minutes later, Foreman is lying on table. Wilson gets ready to give him rabies vaccine. Foreman grimaces.

"Do it."

Wilson sticks the needle into Foreman's stomach. "You want me to talk to her?"

Foreman shakes his head. "And say what? There's some experimental treatment, but it's not gonna work. Don't worry, we can make you comfortable? Doesn't matter how. She's gonna die."

"Yeah. That's what you say to her. Keep that there and rest for a minute."

Foreman immediately gets up, ignoring Wilson's adamant protests.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

"Tell House I need to go out for about an hour."

"She may not have that long."

"I don't want her to die alone."

Wilson puts it together. "You're going to find James."

"I'm gonna try."

Wilson nods and follows him. They carry Victoria's drawing of the interior of a house with sunny yellow walls and a sweeping staircase. They make it to the present house – ray and abandoned. A police siren echoes in the background. Foreman and Wilson walk through the rooms, calling out. Foreman comes to the door identical to the drawing. He nudges Wilson, and they force open the door. The room in question is full of cobwebs.

Wilson shakes his head. "Man, no one's been in here for a long time."

Foreman holds up the drawing for Wilson to see. The second panel shows a box on a shelf. They look up to see it before them. Minutes later, Foreman and Wilson are leafing through pictures of a happy looking Victoria and a smiling man.

"This has got to be James. Maybe there's another address."

Wilson opens an envelope and reads the contents. "It's not James." He hands over marriage certificate. "Paul. Paul Furia."

"Mr. Fury."

"Her husband."

"Then who's James?"

Wilson looks up slowly, and hands Foreman some papers from the envelope. "Her kid."

Foreman looks down at a picture of a baby. There's another one of Victoria, her husband, and their tiny blonde son. Foreman looks down at the time the photo was taken. Victoria and her family stand in the sunny yellow foyer of their home. She's kissing the baby's hand, and her husband has his arm around both of them.

"Foreman. Foreman."

Foreman looks up, and Wilson sadly hands over a newspaper clipping. "They're dead. That car crash two years ago – she broke her arm… and they were killed."

Foreman sighs, knowingly. "She was driving."

It's nearly midnight and Victoria is on her side in a hospital bed. Foreman sits down behind her and grasps her hand. Her eyes open slightly, but she doesn't face him.

"James." She whispers.

"No. It's Paul."

"You've come to take me." Her voice trembles.

"No. I've come to forgive you." Victoria's breath catches and her eyes start to tear up. "It wasn't your fault."

Victoria sobs. "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry."

"I know. It's okay Victoria. It's okay."

Meanwhile, Wilson is sitting on a street corner with rolled down grates over windows and a burnt-out street lamp. He lets out a sigh as House appears. 

"Oh." He looks up, sounding nervous. "You followed me?"

"No. You were wearing rain boots today, but you were parked in the underground garage, so the only reason you'd need boots was if you were hitting the streets" _Ah, screw this. It's time to be serious._ … "I followed you."

 _Why did he follow me?_ "Didn't we have a conversation about friendship?"

"Yeah. I had some follow up questions. I've met your parents, and your brother –"

Wilson cuts him off. "I have two brothers."

"Why wouldn't you tell me –"

 _Because it scares me what you already know._ "It was irrelevant."

 _That's not an answer._ "Why not?"

"Because he's not in my life any more."

 _Damn, he's got a missing brother._ "Well, that's relevant."

Wilson draws a sharp breath. "This was the last place I saw him, nine years ago. I don't even know if he's alive."

House slumps down beside him, using the lamppost for assistance. A homeless man wanders by as House silently leans a shoulder against Wilson's. While not one for comforting, House slides his hand into Wilson's as an act of assurance. They stare off into the distance in comfortable silence.

 **Well, I had to extend that last scene a little. Wilson knows how House is, so he should be the one to see House's other side. The warmer side that he hides so well.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey, I'm back with 1.11 – Detox. Listening to 'Teenage Dirtbag' by Wheatus on loop. If you haven't heard that song, SERIOUSLY LISTEN TO IT! I love it! Right, well… back to the task at hand…**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

House and Wilson haven't talked about that day on the street corner. They don't need to. Wilson knows House cares, and House knows he's done what he could do. It's been three days. House is now impatiently waiting at the pharmacy counter. Not all the shipments have arrived and House is getting antsy. Marco, the pharmacist, is on the phone.

"What lie are they telling you?"

Marco holds up his hand, gesturing for him to wait. "Okay, yes."

"Come on." House starts drumming on the counter.

"All right, thank you." Marco hangs up the phone and turns to House. "Okay, pharmaceuticals were delivered this morning, but shipping accidentally sent the box with Vicodin to research."

"Hmmm. That's a tough one. If only we had some way to communicate with another part of the building." He picks up the phone for the pharmacist, and Cameron walks up with a case file.

"Thirteen-year-old MVA victim. He's been in and out of the hospital for three weeks with internal bleeding, no one can find the cause."

House grows sardonic. "Internal bleeding after a car accident, wow, that's shocking!" His attention turns to Marco. "Let me talk to shipping, I speak their language."

Cameron complains. "It's been three weeks –"

Cuddy walks up to the clinic desk. House shoots a glare at her. "Your hospital doesn't have my pain medication."

"Shipping says it's going to be an hour." Marco holds the phone out for her.

She takes it. "This is Dr. Cuddy, what's going on?"

Cameron keeps pressing the case. "The crash didn't cause the bleed."

"Right, the bleed caused the crash. Blood got on the road, it got all slippery." Feeling anxious and cynical, House shouts out to the room. "Anyone here got drugs?"

Everyone stops and looks at him. One clinic patient in a wheelchair raises his hand.

Cameron ignores the outburst. "She saw his blood, she got distracted, and she crashed his dad's Porsche."

"Dad loved that."

"He was –"

"Don't talk."

Cuddy hangs up. "It's gonna be an hour."

House hisses, "Well, thank God you took control."

"If you can't wait one hour to get your–"

"Kid's got hemolytic anemia."

House and Cuddy turn to look at her. Cuddy speaks first, taking the chart from the younger teen. "Kid? How old?"

"He must have inherited it. He's gonna die. My condolences."

Cameron shakes her head. "It wasn't inherited. The problem's outside the red blood cells."

Cuddy flips through the file. "This is impossible. A thirteen-year-old doesn't get hemolytic anemia –"

House groans at Cuddy. "Give her back the file; you have bigger problems to tend to, like my meds."

"Elevated indirect bilirubin, low serum haptoglobin…"

"He's got meningitis."

Cuddy looks at the chart. "Uh… no."

"Artificial heart valve."

"No."

House snatches the chart from her hands and looks at it himself. _Alright. Interesting case. It'll take my mind off it._

His eyes snap up. "Get everyone in my office."

Not long after, all the ducklings are in their usual spots in his office.

"Kid's gonna be dead in a matter of days if we don't figure out why his red blood cells are disintegrating, so differential diagnosis, people."

Foreman shrugs. "Well, it's not environmental. Dad hired a company to clean the house, maid washed all the clothes, and bought hypoallergenic sheets and pillows."

Chase quirks an eyebrow. "You want us to recheck?"

"No. If it's environmental he'll get better just from staying here." He glances to his watch and shuffles some papers.

"It could be an infection."

Cameron says, "No fever, no white count."

"Well, he's 99.2."

"Barely above normal."

"But above. His body's reacting to something."

"We could account for the lack of fever and white count if it's lupus."

"Drugs'll fit just as much as lupus. Meth'll cause hemolytic anemia." Chase tries to ignore House, who is resting his head on the clear white board.

Cameron does too. "A lot of meth."

Foreman twitches his mouth. "He also doesn't seem the type."

"Because his dad drives a Porsche? Rich kids do drugs just like poor kids."

"Didn't mean to offend you."

"Okay, so it's infection, lupus, drugs, or cancer." House remarks irritably.

Cameron gapes. "Cancer?"

"Why not? Great meeting." He stands to leave.

"Shouldn't we narrow it down before we finish?"

"My leg gave us 'till 11:15. I'll talk to Wilson about lymphoma; Cameron, run an ANA for lupus; Chase, radio immunoassay for drugs; Foreman… you test for whatever you thought it was. I've got a date with a pharmacist."

House heads directly for the pharmacy and impatiently picks up his Vicodin. "Come on, come on, come on, come on… "

As soon as House gets the bottle, he dry-swallows a couple pills. _Oh, thank the higher algorithm._ Cuddy catches up to him on his way out the clinic doors. _Oh, damn._

"You know, there are other ways to manage pain."

"Like what, laughter? Meditation? Got a guy who can fix my third chakra?" They start walking.

"You're addicted."

"If the pills ran my life I'd agree with you, but it's my leg busy calendaring what I can't do."

"You're in denial."

"Right, I never had an infarction in my leg, no dead muscle, no nerve damage. Doesn't even hurt." He presses the button for the elevator. "Actually, it kind of tickles. The chicks dig this." He remarks as he raises cane. "Better than a puppy."

"It's not just your leg. You wanna get high! You're doing what, eighty mg a day?"

 _I wanna get high? God, Cuddy. Pull your head out of your ass. You think if wanted to get high, I'd choose Vicodin of all things?_ "Oh, that's way too much! Moderation is the key. Unless there's pain."

"It's double what you were taking when you got hired."

"'Cause you're twice as annoying."

"I can't always be here to protect you. Patients talk. Doctors talk." The elevator doors open.

"About how big your ass has gotten lately? Not me, I defend it. You got back."

They walk into the full elevator. House and Cuddy stay quiet until they get off at his floor.

"You can't go a week without your drugs."

"Correction: I don't want to go a week without the drugs; it'll hurt."

"No, you can't. If you're just getting off pain medication, it will hurt, you won't be having a great time, but you'll make it. If you're detoxing you'll have chills, nausea… your pain will magnify five, ten times. You won't make it."

"Well, I guess we'll never know."

"I'll give you a week off clinic duty if you can go a week off narcotics."

"No way! I love the clinic."

"You love the pills. Two weeks."

 _Damn, stop pressuring me._ "Pills don't make me high. They make me neutral."

"A month."

 _Damn it, I've grown up competitive. Stay in the tub two more hours and you get dinner. Damn it, damn it, damn it… I'm gonna kill myself from this bet. Literally._ House reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Vicodin. He throws the pills to Cuddy, who looks positively giddy. _Yeah, yeah… enjoy it while it lasts, Witch._ "You're on, Mister."

In Keith, the thirteen-year-old's, room, Cameron is taking a family history from Keith's dad.

"Drugs could cause this?"

"Cocaine and meth are very hard on the blood system. Has he had any erratic behavior?"

"No, but…" He looks over to where his son's fifteen-year-old girlfriend Pam is sitting by herself. "She was in rehab in the eighth grade. She's supposedly clean now, but –"

"She obviously cares for him."

"Yeah, what she cared about was the car. Anniversary present from my wife. We drove it up north to watch the leaves change. She was dead a year later. Cancer."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Foster, we're going to test Keith for drugs.

A little before noon, Chase is with Keith.

"I don't do drugs."

"It's not that we don't trust you, but…" He pulls out one of Keith's hairs with tweezers.

He tests it in the lab, but it comes back negative. Due to this, Keith needs to get scanned, and Cameron returns to talk with Keith's dad.

"Have you been sick?"

"No, nothing."

"Have you been out of the country?"

"We went to China, but we got all of our shots before we left."

"It could be an infection. We're going to give him a gallium scan just to be safe. We inject a radioactive isotope into his bloodstream, and we check to see if there's inflammation anywhere in the body. Has he ever complained of any joint pain? Sensitivity to light, rashes…"

"No, no, nothing."

"Any relatives ever been diagnosed with lupus?"

"I don't even know that that is."

"In simple terms, the body becomes allergic to itself. The immune system attacks healthy cells in the circulatory system and destroys them."

"Would it be treatable?"

"It can be manageable. We can test for the antibodies. 95% of patients with lupus test positive for ANA. What about bruising? He ever complain about tenderness under his arms or his groin?"

"I'm not sure he'd tell me if he did. I guess I really don't know what's going on in his life."

"He's a teenager." She pauses. "What type of cancer did your wife have?"

"Pancreatic."

"It's his lymph nodes we're concerned about. We're going to do a biopsy to check for lymphoma."

In Keith's room, Wilson is poking him under his arm.

"Okay, you feel this?"

"No."

"Good."

Wilson begins to cut into his arm when Keith speaks up again. "I have cancer, don't I?"

"We're just testing."

"That's what they told my mom."

The tests results take until four-thirty. Everyone convenes in the hall just outside Keith's room.

"Nothing?"

Cameron looks at the floor. "Nothing."

Chase prattles, "Negative for drugs. ANA was negative, gallium scan was clear…"

"Yeah, I got that from the "nothing". Where's his hematocrit?"

Foreman sighs. "Thirteen."

Wilson shakes his head. "Drops any lower he's not going to have any red blood cells to bring oxygen to his body." House suddenly grimaces as Wilson speaks, and he puts his hand against the wall to steady himself. "He'll suffocate with his lungs working perfectly."

Foreman's the first to ask anything. "You okay?"

House nods slightly, wishing for something to take his attention away. Keith saves him by calling out.

"Excuse me, someone? Help, please?"

As the ducklings enter the room, House pushes himself off the wall. "Polite for a dying kid." He starts to limp off, barely noticing that Wilson is coming with.

"How long has it been?"

 _Damn that concern…_ "I'm fine."

Wilson drops it, rather easily in House's opinion. In Keith's room, the youngest teen is worried.

"There's something in my eye, up top."

Chase moves closer. "Which eye?"

Keith points to the left. "This one. What's happening?"

"It's all right. Just, look down for me?" Chase looks into his eye with a penlight. "It's clear. There's nothing in it."

"It's getting worse!"

Cameron tries to gage it. "Is it fuzzy, or –"

Keith gets louder. "No! It's dark! I can't see!"

An hour later, Foreman is closely examining Keith's eye, and sees a clot in it. He and the other ducklings walk into the office.

"It's a retinal clot in the left eye."

Cameron frowns. "Coumadin would dissolve the clot, fix his eyesight."

Chase shakes his head. "You can't use bloodthinners, he's got internal bleeding. Fix the eye, you kill everything else."

Foreman nods. "Surgery's out for the same reason."

"We have two hours to figure this out. Either we restore the blood flow or he loses the eye."

House walks in then. He does not look well. Chase looks openly curious, Foreman looks disgusted, and Cameron looks as though she's about to start crying with pity. House totally ignores them.

"Forget the eye. Tell him to use the other one to look on the bright side. The clot tells us something. It could help us figure out what he has, which could mean he gets to live. Differential diagnosis, people. How does internal bleeding suddenly start clotting?"

Chase recovers quickly. "It makes no sense, they're opposing processes."

Wilson walks in as Cameron speaks. "It can happen in lupus. Increased platelet count can cause blood clots."

"ANA was negative. It's not lupus."

 _What the hell? He almost looks guilty._ "This is true. But why are you the one saying it? What are you doing here? I thought we ruled out cancer."

 _Right, right._ "I was lonely."

 _Well I don't need you here. Go be guilty somewhere else._ "Well, go see Cuddy. She needs a friend."

 _Right, I can use that._ "That's funny, she said you might need one."

 _Wait. He's guilty because he knows about the bet? There's gotta be something else going on here._ "That's why you're here? She wants you to keep an eye on me, make sure I don't cheat."

 _No, I'm worried about you._ "No, I want to make sure you don't start firing shots from the clock tower."

 _Oh, shut up._ "I'm fine."

Cameron interrupts the two. "What's going on?"

Wilson pulls out a crossword book. "He hasn't had Vicodin in five and a half hours."

Foreman looks shocked. "Does your leg hurt?"

House bites back, "You ever been shot?"

Foreman only nods. "There's gonna be side effects. Insomnia, depression, tachycardia –"

"Withdrawal symptoms. Not applicable. The only side-effects I'm going to have are some pain and thirty days of freedom." He pauses, taking in Cameron's disgusted look. "Am I the only one who's concerned about a dying kid? If it's not lupus, what else?"

Chase returns to the case. "Most likely candidate for throwing a clot is infection or cancer."

Wilson looks up from his crossword. "Checked the biopsy twice, it's not cancer."

Foreman shakes his head. "It's not an infection. Gallium scan didn't reveal anything."

"Okay, what hides from a gallium scan?" He turns toward his office and sees a beautiful woman stretching. _What the hell? Am I already hallucinating from withdrawal? Does anyone else see her?_ " Ooookay."

Chase carries on. "Cardiac."

Cameron nods. "Right. Clot slips off, travels through the artery, and gets backed up in the eye."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What happened?"

Foreman tilts his head. "It's an infection. In his heart? "

"Great. Echocardiogram for the heart and IV antibiotics for the infection, stat."

Chase, Cameron and Foreman leave, but Wilson walks over. He stares as well. _Oh, great. He sees her too. I'm not going insane. Yet._

"She's a personal masseuse."

"No."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Look, if it were me"

"I'm not lonely," He cuts off his friend. "My leg hurts."

"She's a real masseuse."

"She's five hundred dollars an hour, minimum."

"She's hot, so she's a hooker? What kind of pathetic logic is that?"

"The envious, jealous, I-never-got-any-in-high-school kind of logic, hello!"

"She's a legitimate masseuse, come on." Wilson looks at her. "God, she's beautiful."

House snorts. "Because she's beautiful I should do it? What kind of pathetic logic is that?"

"The envious, jealous, I'm-engaged-and-I-can't-do-anything logic!" The woman comes over. "Hello."

"Hi. Listen, I'm, I'm sure you're really good at whatever it is you do –"

The woman startles him, not speaking English. "Dame su mano."

 _My hand? I'm not giving her my hand. Why did Wilson bring me a Spanish - ah, ahh!_ She grabs his hand when he doesn't respond. _No, let go. How do I say 'let go'?_

Wilson smirks beside him. "She doesn't speak English."

The woman kneads his hand in hers.

"Ow! Ow… ah… ah…. oh, my God."

Oh. My. God. He's in ecstasy. House might actually pull this off with Shania as his masseuse. Oh, uh… maybe I should go back to my office… but I don't want to…

Shania looks happy, and Wilson can't help but watch. House seemingly has an orgasm from the simple hand massage. "Bueno."

Abruptly, she stops. She points to House's chair. "Vamos. Take off your clothes."

"Sostener." House holds up his recently massaged hand. "Jimmy dijo que eras un masajista verdadera."

"Si?"

"Bien. Solo revisando."

Wilson watches the scene unfold, wishing he'd taken a Spanish class in high school – rather than Latin. He can't tear his eyes away, even as his best friend starts unbuttoning his shirt. He walks to the chair, and Shania turns toward Wilson.

"Que pasa con su acosador?" She asks with an attitude.

House sends Wilson a mischevious leer, taking advantage of the fact that Wilson remains clueless. "Cerrar las persianas puede entra o quedarse encerrando."

She frowns as she turns to face Wilson, with a hand on the door. "Tu ves?"

Wilson realizes she's asked a question, but all he does is sputter and shake his head. House smirks in the background. Shania, on the other hand, pulls the blinds closed and she turns away.

"Le conviene." She slams the door shut, and closes the rest of the blinds.

Wilson's face is red and he rubs the back of his neck as he weakly walks back to his office. Up in Keith's room, Chase is doing the echocardiogram. While doing so, he takes a look at the untouched food.

"Not a fan of the stroganoff?"

"I'm not hungry."

"The antibiotics can cause nausea."

"So can the food." The thirteen-year-old retorts. "Shouldn't you be looking at my eye?"

"The blood clot isn't life-threatening. We're focusing on figuring out the cause of your problems."

"So the blindness will be permanent, won't it?"

Chase nods. An hour later, at 7:15, the masseuse is leaving House's office as Chase walks up.

"Gracias." House's voice is a little hoarse, and he's fastening his pants.

"Adios." Shania smiles.

House rolls his eyes at Chase's look. "I had a massage."

"Looks like you had a masseuse. Help the pain?"

"I'm fine."

"I know. Kid's echo was normal, no sign of any vegetations on heart valves."

"Never met a diagnostic study I couldn't refute."

"And the antibiotics aren't doing anything."

"So, double the dosage. 70mg."

Chase stares at him incredulously. "That'll box his kidneys for sure!"

"Oh, you're right. Save the kidney. The guy we transplant it into will be grateful."

Chase sighs, letting it go. "Also, I have an idea for his eye."

"Nothing we can do about his eye."

"He's got a clot in his retinal –"

"Read the memo."

"If we remove some of the liquid from the eye itself, the Vitreous humor, it might make some extra room around the retinal artery."

"If the artery expands, the clot might move out on its own. That's very creative." House smiles a little. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

Chase shrugs with a small smile. "Well, I didn't think of it before."

Chase walks away and House returns to his office. Cameron leaves the hospital at nine o'clock, and surgery begins for Keith at 10:45. Chase performs it by sticking a needle through the thirteen-year-old's eye.

"This isn't going to hurt, right?"

Chase shakes his head. "Your eye's numb. You'll only feel pressure."

After the surgery is complete, at 11:30, the clot dissolves. Keith can see again. Chase gives him an eyepatch for his left eye and he's sent back to his room. At midnight, Pam catches word. She's there, at his side, kissing his hand.

"I can see you." He grins.

"I heard! Congratulations." She leans in to kiss him.

He turns away. "Don't. I haven't brushed my teeth in two days."

She smiles and kisses him anyway. "Ah, I'm so scared they're not gonna find out what's wrong with you."

"No biggie. I'm fine."

"I feel so bad about this. It's all my fault."

"No. No, it's not."

"But your father. He hates me."

Keith disagrees. "He's just pissed about his car."

She leans in to kiss him again, but he pushes her back just in time to vomit all over her shirt. She screams for help as Keith's dad and a nurse rush in. His doctors are paged and he's being wheeled to intensive care in under ten minutes. House meets up with them in the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

"AST is 859, we're getting him to the ICU." Foreman explains.

Chase nods. "ALT and GDT were in the tank. Our antibiotics –"

"Would not have caused this."

The dad points to the girlfriend. "She must have given him drugs."

Pam sounds enraged. "I wouldn't do that!"

House talks over them. "It's not drugs! His liver is shutting down."

The dad swivels his head to face House. "What? What does that mean?"

 _Damn it! That's a stupid question._ "It means he's all better. He's ready to go home."

"What?"

"What do you think it means? You can't live without a liver, he's dying!"

"What is your problem?"

 _My body is fucking killing me because I haven't had my pills in over twelve hours!_ "Bum leg, what's yours?"

Chase breaks them apart. "Hey, we don't have time for this, let's go."

Foreman twists his face to glare at House. "His son's dying and you're mocking him?"

 _I'm gonna die if I don't get my damn pills._ "It was a dumb question."

"No, it wasn't."

"You're right, it wasn't."

"Is proving Cuddy wrong worth all this?"

He leaves, running toward ICU. House has to lean against the wall again. Keith remains in ICU under constant supervision for the next fifty-eight hours. Chase and Foreman leave to go home around one on the first night. The ducklings spend their time working in the clinic and the ER, plus with their tutors, while they can't do anything about their case. House spends the night in his office, not getting more than five minutes of rest at a time. Wilson almost leaves nine times, but ends up sleeping on his couch, worried about House and the stupid bet. At 10am on the fourth day, the ducklings have gathered in the office.

Foreman speaks first. "You know, House shouldn't even be here."

Chase looks up from the crossword Wilson started yesterday. "Because he said something inappropriate? If we sent him home every time he did that, we wouldn't need this office."

Cameron frowns. "He's in pain."

Foreman throws his hands up. "What does the man have to do to piss you off?"

"He's been without pain relief for forty-six hours –"

"Exactly!" Foreman shouts. "He's detoxing, can't you see he's out of his mind?"

House hobbles in, hearing that last remark. He's sweating. "That's what they said about Manson. Do you want to continue talking about me or should we discuss what the liver damage tells us? With no answer, he begins to tell his life story. "I was born in a log cabin in Illinois –"

Cameron breaks in. "Hemolytic anemia doesn't cause liver damage. Add the fact he's coughing blood, you've got three of the indicators of organ-threatening lupus."

"It's moving too fast. Could be hepatitis-E."

Foreman shakes his head. "There's only been one case of hep-E originating in the US since –"

"Its history. Since he's been in and out of the country four times in the last year…"

Cameron tilts her head. "You really think he's got hep-E?"

"No. I think the lupus is way more likely."

"All right. Then let's start him on IV Cytoxan and plasmapheresis."

"No, we should rule out hep-E."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You just said it wasn't hep-E."

"I said lupus was way more likely, but if we treat for lupus and it is hep-E."

Chase grimaces. "He's toast."

"Exactly."

Cameron whines, "But there isn't a treatment for hepatitis-E. Either he'll get better on his own or he'll continue to deteriorate."

"Yeah, I went to medical school, too. Start him on solumedrol."

"If he's got hep-E that's only going to make him worse!"

"Not as much. Goldilocks, people. It won't hurt him so much that it'll kill him, and it won't hurt him so little that we can't tell. It'll hurt him just right. And if it does nothing…"

Chase catches on. "We'll know it's not hep-E and start treating him for lupus."

"Now watch me do it while drinking a glass of water."

Foreman bites the inside of his cheek. "What do we tell the dad? "We think your kid has lupus, so we're gonna treat him for hepatitis-E? And oh yeah, if it really is hep-E, we're not actually giving him hep-E medication, so it's gonna make him worse, not better?""

"You think he'll go for that?"

Cameron stares back. "So you want us to lie?"

"No. I want _you_ to lie."

"Why me?"

"Because he trusts you."

At two o'clock, Keith is moved to another room in the ICU. One not dominated by supervision. The ducklings assemble in the hall by the elevator.

"This is a mistake."

Foreman agrees with her. "This is a lawsuit."

Chase defends House. "Hep-E is possible. House always pulls these stunts and he's right more often –"

Foreman shakes his head. "He's delaying treatment because of a one-in-a-million chance that even he doesn't think is the problem."

"I don't want to lie to him."

"Then don't."

"And get fired?"

Chase scoffs. "Like he's going to fire you, he loves you."

The elevator dings. Cameron goes into the elevator, but holds the 'door open' button.

"I've got to do something; the kid needs treatment."

Foreman nods. "Treat him for lupus."

Chase twitches. "That will get you fired."

"You really think House is losing it?"

Foreman nods as he walks away. "Yeah."

Chase shakes it off. "He's fine. He knows what he's doing."

Chase leaves. Cameron stops holding the button and the doors close. Meanwhile, House is in his office. He's sweating; breathing heavily and looks a real mess. He picks up a pestle from the back table and slams it on the table. After banging it on the table a few more times, he slams it down on the fingers of his left hand. With his hand possibly broken and some blood drizzling from his knuckles, he smiles. Cameron meets up with Keith's dad in the hall just outside of Keith's room.

"We're recommending a drug called solumedrol."

"For hepatitis? Did that show up on his blood tests?"

Cameron winces slightly. "The tests are never 100% accurate."

"Well, then all the other tests could be wrong, too. This could still be an infection or cancer."

"Um, they don't fit any of the most recent symptoms."

"Well, what, just hepatitis does? I know, I know, I know, you can never be sure. When Linda was in the hospital, the doctor told us there was this aggressive experimental treatment that might extend her life by two or three years. We figured if there were any hope at all that we could have her with us a little while longer, it would be worth it. Three weeks later, she was gone."

 _Okay… no point about it now. He got to me. I can't do it._ "I don't think it's hepatitis. I think your son has lupus."

At 4:30 in a clinic exam room, Wilson is looking at x-rays of House's hand. "I think it's broken. What did you do?"

House is sitting on the bed, not meeting Wilson's eyes. "Accidentally closed the car door on it."

"No. Door would have broken the skin. This looks like something hard and smooth smashed it."

"I want my lawyer."

Wilson scowls. "The brain has a gating mechanism for pain. Registers the most severe injury and blocks out the others. Did it work?"

"Well, my hand hurts like hell. Yeah, I feel much better."

 _Shit. I can't believe he'd actually stoop this low. He must need the medicine more than I thought. Ever thought._ "Huh." Wilson moves over with some handiwork.

House inches away. "Don't splint it. I want to be able to bang it against the wall if I need to administer another dose. Just… tape it up."

Cuddy barges in. "Why did you tell Cameron to lie to Mr. Foster?"

House ignores Cuddy, still speaking to Wilson. "Make it tight will ya?"

"Answer me."

"Nothing I could say is going to change how you feel, and nothing could come out of your reaction that is going to change what I plan to do, so I prefer to say nothing." While House and Cuddy begin their 'conversation', Wilson manages to tune them out, as he tends to tape up House's hand.

Cuddy blinks. "So, that was you just saying nothing."

"Uh-huh."

"The guy is furious."

"And scared."

"So, what are you going to do? The father's insisting on the lupus treatment."

"Yeah, Cameron told me and I told her to tell him no."

"Well, you can't just sit back and let the kid die."

"Neither can the father."

Cuddy scoffs. "So that's your plan? You're gonna play chicken with the kid's life?"

"Well, he's the dad. I should win easily."

Cuddy groans. 'Take the week off."

"What, 'cause I lied to a patient? I take risks; sometimes patients die. But not taking risks causes more patients to die, so I guess my biggest problem is I've been cursed with the ability to do the math."

Cameron walks in then, trying not to pay attention to House's broken hand – or Wilson taping him up. "I told him that you wouldn't treat him for the lupus until –"

"What did he say?"

"He said he wanted to transfer Keith to another hospital."

Cuddy is alarmed. "He's not stable enough. He'd never make it through the door!"

"That's what I told him."

House nods. "And that's when he caved."

"Yeah. He agreed to do it your way."

"Two plus two equals four."

An hour and a half later, Keith is moved bak to his room. Chase and Cameron join him and the dad to talk things over.

"If it is hepatitis-E we should begin to see a marked decline in liver function tests within the hour." Chase clarifies.

"Why bother explaining it to me? It's not like I have any choice in the matter."

Cameron purses her lips. "If there's no hep-E we'll start treatment for lupus immediately."

Keith looks down suddenly. "Ouch!"

"Keith? What's wrong?"

"What's happening?"

"Get off!" He starts screaming, rambling about something on him.

"Keith? It's Dr. Chase, where does it hurt?"

"Jules, no!" He doesn't hear Chase and starts to mimic pushing something off of his chest.

Cameron runs to his other side. "He's hallucinating." She and Chase try to keep his arms down.

His dad worries from the side. "Is this from the medicine?"

"We haven't started the medicine."

"Keith, we're in the hospital. Keith, there's nothing on you."

"Keith, Keith, Keith!" His dad shakes him slightly, and then strokes his hair. "You okay, buddy?"

In an out-of-breath voice, Keith whimpers. "I think I wet the bed."

Chase sighs in hitched relief. "Don't worry about it, it's fine. Let's get you up."

They turn him over to find a massive amount of blood on the bed.

"Oh, God!" His dad covers his face with his hands.

Cameron's face flushes. "He's had a major bleed. Bright red blood per rectum."

Keith continues to sob. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry."

"He's going into hypervolemic shock." Chase calls. "Pressure's 60, heart rate's 140."

"We need an angiography, stat!"

Twenty-two hours later, at 4:15pm on the fifth day, Keith is receiving a transfusion in his room. House is sitting on his floor, against his desk. He's been shaking on-and-off. Wilson has been by to check on him every four hours on the dot. His hand looks as though it's bled some more. Chase and Cameron are now squatting to reach his eye level. Foreman just stands behind them.

"Angiography revealed major upper and lower GI bleeding, severe hemodynamic compromise, and liver failure."

Chase adds in quietly, "He's also hallucinating. Thinks he's being talked to by someone named "Jules"."

Cameron is just as quiet. "Hallucinations are a symptom of psychosis, which is the fourth diagnostic criterion. It's official. This is lupus."

House cranes his neck painfully. "Who's Jules? Any mention of her in the medical history?"

Cameron's voice rises a little, but she keeps it at a whisper. "It doesn't matter what he's hallucinating about; it matters why! It's lupus!"

"There's no need to get snippy. This kind of lupus takes years to get to this point; it's been less than a week."

"Yeah, and a thirteen-year-old kid shouldn't have hemolytic anemia, or be bleeding out of every orifice, but he is. We had an opportunity to treat this, instead we diddled around with hepatitis-E and now it's too late. He needs a new liver. We screwed up."

"You're saying I screwed up."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you just say that?" House rolls his eyes before closing them again.

Foreman snorts, not attempting to be quiet. "You gonna just blame this on her?"

"Did you agree with my recommendation to treat for hep-E?" He asks Cameron.

"No, I didn't."

Chase scoffs. "And she made herself quite clear."

"And then she went and lied to the father. That's why you're angry."

"Yeah, I trusted you."

"You always trust me. Big mistake. Lupus is a bad diagnosis."

Chase teeters. "It's the best diagnosis we've got."

"That doesn't make it good."

Foreman groans. "No, it just makes it this kid's only chance to live."

"Put him on the transplant list. And make sure Cuddy knows, see if she can do anything to get him close to the top."

He stands slowly and walks behind his desk. Chase and Cameron leave. Foreman waits, and follows House. House, meanwhile, throws up in a trashcan. He looks up and sees Foreman. "Stay away from the cafeteria."

Foreman crosses his arms. "Right. What happened to your hand?"

"Got stuck in a drawer." He responds hoarsely.

"Yeah, right. You're going through withdrawal."

"No, I am going through pain. Pain causes nausea."

"I took this job to work with you, not cover your ass." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a little orange bottle, which he puts on the desk. "Your Vicodin."

House glares at it. "And your solution is to give me drugs. It's interesting."

"No. Now I'm covering my ass. Take your pills before you kill this kid."

Foreman leaves the room. House feebly grabs the bottle and opens it with one hand. He spills the pills on the desk and picks up one pill. Instead of taking it, throws it down and clears his desk with a fell swoop. In anger and exhaustion, he slumps onto his office chair. Meanwhile, Chase and Cameron are in Keith's room, talking to the dad.

"Lupus is normally treated with medication, but in Keith's case the disease is too advanced."

"Because you lied. Because House wanted to play games with my son's life."

Chase defends her. "There's no way to really tell what progression the disease may take –"

Cameron still cuts him off. "You're right, and I'm sorry."

"So what do we do?" The dad sighs.

"He needs a new liver."

Foreman goes to Cuddy's office once Cameron has gotten approval.

"There are over fifteen thousand patients on the transplant list." Cuddy explains that he may not make it.

"But how many are about to bleed to death unless they get a new liver?"

"In Jersey? I'd say, uh, twenty. Two thousand patients die each year because a donor liver can't be found, that's almost five a day."

"So he's screwed."

Cuddy sighs. "I'll see what I can do."

Outside of Keith's room, the dad talks with the doctors. It is almost five o'clock now.

"Could I donate part of my liver?"

Chase shakes his head. "Sorry, you're a different blood type."

"So we just wait?"

Cameron looks at the floor. "I'm afraid so."

"And hope for someone to die."

House hobbles up to them, still weak and pissed.

"Who's Jules?"

Cameron snaps her head up. "Dr. House, you should get back to your office –"

House ignores her. "Jules. There's no Jules in the history."

Chase stares at him. "It was a hallucination."

"Of what?"

"Our cat. Does this matter?"

Foreman shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. We'll continue the transfusions and the treatment for the anemia and liver failure while we're waiting for a donor."

"How long can he wait?"

Chase huffs. "Not long."

"I don't think this is lupus." House breaks in again.

Cameron grabs his arm. "I don't think this is lupus. Come on, let's just go –"

He shrugs her away. "Your fourth diagnostic criterion of lupus is psychosis; this is just a kid missing his cat."

Chase glares at him. "He was being attacked by an animal that wasn't in the room. That's psychosis."

House steps up. "There's a difference between psychosis and hallucination."

Foreman steps between House and Keith's dad. "So, if he was imagining a fake cat it'd be lupus, but since it was a real cat it's not? Take your damn pills."

"Psychosis requires –"

"There's no cat! Jules is dead."

"You have a dead family pet, and you never mentioned it?" House glares at Cameron. "Nice family history."

"Family history is asking about family members, meaning people related to the patient. Let's go."

"How did the cat die?"

The dad is getting very upset. "Can you get him out of here?"

"Dr. House, come on, let's go –"

"What happened to the damn cat?"

Pam walks over from the waiting area. "Old age. She was fifteen years old."

"When?"

"About a month ago?"

The dad looks between the two. "Does this have anything to do with –"

"Where'd she sleep?"

"With Keith."

Cameron pipes up. "This is not a cat allergy."

"It's not lupus. Where is Jules?"

At eleven o'clock, in a grassy backyard, at night, Chase is digging. Foreman is standing off to the side, acting very dogmatic.

"I go through all hell of public school, and then I get sent off to reform school. I go through all the fucking community service and start up on med school training, and where do I end up?"

Chase glowers at him. "Talking instead of digging. Come on, the ground's frozen solid."

Foreman jumps into the spot and starts to help dig. After only two or three minutes, they hit something hard. The boys find a pet-sized casket and bring it to the car. It takes them forty-five minutes back to the hospital, where they meet up with House in the morgue. They leave him be, but Cameron secretly watches through the glass walls. House doesn't notice her as he struggles to prep and perform the autopsy on the dead cat. His hands continue violently shaking from the withdrawal. Around one a.m. on day six, House is still working in the morgue. Upstairs, a cooler with a biohazard sticker is being brought in through the hospital main doors. Cuddy is directing the transporters with the liver to OR four.

At one-thirty, House has found a mysterious lump in the cat. After carefully examining the lump, he sprints as fast as he can, to the operating room. Keith has been gassed and Dr. Hourani is handed a scalpel as House barges in.

"Stop the gases!" He wheezes.

"What the hell are you doing, House?"

"Saving a thirteen-year-old kid from a lifetime of immunosuppressant drugs and a very nasty scar. This kid doesn't have lupoid hepatitis. He has acute naphthalene toxicity."

"Naphthalene. You're talking about mothballs."

"Nope." House holds up the tweezers. "Termites. They create naphthalene to protect their nests, which I'm assuming is rather large and is inside all four walls of his bedroom at home." House aggressively coughs and tosses the tweezers on the surgical equipment.

"And your assumption is based on what?"

"The autopsy I just conducted on his pet cat."

"Call Cuddy. And security."

"You are not removing that kid's liver."

Hourani screams to one of the nurses. "NOW!"

A nurse goes to call. House starts feeling dizzy, but he manages to cough up some phlegm, and he purposely spits it on the surgeon.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"No, but I have been feeling a little sick lately. Achoo!" House's fake sneezing brings about some actual sneezing, and he tries to spread it around the room.

The anesthesiologist throws up his arms. "There's no way we can do this surgery now."

Hourani rips off his gloves. "You think?!"

It's two a.m., and House is with Foreman, Chase and Wilson in a hallway. Cameron has been requested to come home. Foreman is losing his cool.

"You've already cost him his liver. Don't kill him too!"

House is leaning against the wall. "Why are you so eager to cut into a healthy kid?"

Chase chokes out a bitter laugh. "Healthy? He's in the toilet!"

"He just needs some chicken soup."

"I'm telling Hourani to re-scrub. We're doing this transplant."

"No, you're not." Even detoxing, the severity in House's voice can easily be detected.

"You said it!" Chase doesn't mean to yell. "If Keith's symptoms had an environmental cause, they would have disappeared as soon as he got here."

Wilson looks at his feet. "They've only gotten worse."

"If the food here wasn't one step below Riker's Island he would've gotten better. He's lost fourteen pounds."

Foreman inhales. "Yeah, sure. This is nothing but a dietary thing."

"Naphthalene is a gas, a fat soluble gas. The kid breathes it in, it gets stored in his fat cells. Outside the hospital his body burned protein and carbs for energy, and the naphthalene stayed in fat. But once the car accident put him in the hospital, and he started losing weight, his body had to get its energy somewhere else. It started to burn fat. The floodgates opened, the poison poured into his system." At the end of his monologue, House thrusts his head against the wall, running out of breath.

"So, getting away from the poison is what poisoned him?"

House coughs again. "Getting him away from his dad's meatloaf is what's killing him. "

Keith's dad walks up to House, very quickly, with Cuddy following close behind. She speaks first. "You wanna explain to me why you stopped the surgery?"

The dad is beyond words. He marches past the other doctors and punches House in the jaw, who then falls to the ground. House's head slams against the wall and his nose starts to bleed. He's shaking again, his breathing heavy. Foreman and Chase run to restrain the dad. Wilson and Cuddy kneel to look at House.

The dad screams, "I want him locked up!"

Chase stands in front of him, arms still pressed to his chest. "Hey! Take it easy."

House touches his lip, which is now bleeding. He regains his voice, though hoarse. "Your cat did not die of old age. He died of massive internal bleeding and acute liver failure caused by naphthalene poisoning, the exact same thing your son has."

The man growls at House. "You lie to me, you mess up my son's surgery, and now you expect me to trust you?"

"Give us twenty-four hours, we'll pump your son full of calories –"

Cuddy frowns, standing up. "That liver is going to somebody right now."

The dad shakes a fist. "We're doing that surgery."

House gets up slowly, pressed against the wall. He accepts his cane from Wilson, and swallows the urge to vomit. "If you do the surgery, you'll be killing a mother of four."

"Father of three." Cuddy corrects.

"I was guessing."

"Like you are now?"

"Naphthalene poisoning is the best explanation we have for what's wrong with your son. It explains the internal bleeding, the hemolytic anemia, the liver failure… it also predicts what'll happen next. If you do the surgery he's gonna lay on that table for fourteen hours while his body continues to burn fat and release poison into his system. Either way, I did you a favor. He's awake now, you've got a chance to say goodbye."

Wilson exhales slowly. "I think you should trust Dr. House."

Dad waves a hand. "Give the liver to the other guy."

At four a.m., Chase and Foreman are at Keith's house. They walk into his room, with Foreman wielding a sledgehammer. He starts to break a hole in one of the walls, which reveals a lot of termites. At eleven p.m., Cameron is back at the hospital. She's in Keith's room.

"INR is down, and his blood count is climbing. It means you made the right call. His liver is healing. He's gonna be just fine."

The dad hugs his son, and Pam grabs Keith's hand. The dad grabs Pam's arm, too, and everyone looks happier. House and Wilson stand outside House's office, watching the clock tick away to midnight. Wilson sighs, looking over to his hurting friend.

"You made it a week."

House nods dizzily. "And won my prize."

"Congratulations."

"Cuddy's a sucker. I would have done it for two weeks off."

"Yeah, it was a piece of cake. You learn anything?"

House exhales slowly, walking into his office. "Yeah, I'm an addict." Wilson follows.

Wilson is shocked. "Uh, okay."

House narrows his eyes. "I'm not stopping."

"There are programs. Cuddy would give you the time. You could get on a different pain management regimen –"

House grabs a pill from the floor, where he swiped the desk earlier. He dry swallows it and allows it to take effect as he rests his arms on the desk. "I don't need to stop."

Wilson blinks. "You just said…"

"I said I was an addict. I can admit I have a problem. But I pay my bills, okay? I make my meals. I function." He moves to the chair and basically collapses.

Wilson crosses his arms. "Is that all you want? You have no relationships."

 _The last time I had a relationship, it caused my pain. It cost me my fucking leg._ House glares at him. "I don't _want_ any relationships."

Wilson hesitates. "You alienate people."

House closes his eyes. "I've been alienating people since I was three."

Wilson throws his hands on House's desk. "Oh, come on! Drop it! You don't think you've changed in the last few years?"

House's voice takes on a cynical and somewhat serious tone. "Well, of, of course I have. I've, I've gotten older. My hair's gotten thinner. Sometimes I'm bored, and sometimes I'm lonely. I get depressed, and sometimes I wonder what it all means." _He still looks guilty. Could he really be behind this scam? This stupid, fucking cold turkey withdrawal?_

Wilson watches as House stands up, meeting his gaze. Wilson starts up again, anger showing. "No, I was there! You are not just a regular guy who's getting older, you've changed! You're miserable, and you're afraid to face yourself –"

House slams his cane down on the desk, narrowly missing Wilson's hands. "Of course I've changed, damn it!"

Wilson notices. His voice grows calmer. "And everything's the leg? Nothing's the pills? They haven't done a thing to you?"

 _Damn. That look in his eyes. He knows. He did it. He started this whole fucking thing. And now he's beating himself up over it. That's why he's pissed. It was his idea._ House also visibly calms. "They let me do my job, and they take away my pain."

Wilson walks off, looking defeated. The ducklings have already left for home. House slumps back in his chair, while Wilson heads to the front desk in the downstairs lobby. He signs out and Cuddy walks over.

"How'd it go?"

"He admitted he's addicted to the narcotics –"

"Well, admitting you have a problem is the first –"

"- and he says it's a problem. But he says it doesn't matter because he can function. Maybe it doesn't. What do I know?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." He glares at her without really meaning to. "I've done enough damage."

"Better hope he never finds out that that was your idea."

Wilson winces. "He'd never believe it."

 **Alright, so this chapter started up a lot of the** _ **thoughts**_ **in their minds. We don't get to hear their thoughts on the show, so it needs to be done here. House is intelligent. Even while heavily detoxing, he knows Wilson well enough to know when he's lying or keeping something from him. By the way, this chapter lasted from February 4** **th** **through the 10** **th** **.**

 **Oh, yeah. Here's a bit of help on the Spanish portion of the fanfiction (you know, with Shania?)… sorry if I didn't translate something completely right…**

 **Dame su mano = Give me your hand.**

 **Vamos. = Come on.**

 **Sostener. = Hold up.**

 **Jimmy dijo que eras un masajista verdadera. = Jimmy said you were a real masseuse.**

 **Si? = Yes?**

 **Bien. Solo revisando. = Alright. Just checking.**

 **Que pasa con su acosador? = What about him?**

 **Cerrar las persianas. Puede entra o quedarse encerrando. = Shut the blinds. He can come in or get locked out.**

 **Tu ves? = You watch?**

 **Le conviene. = Suit yourself.**

 **Okay! I look forward to your reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi! I'm a little pissed because I already typed out the first three pages before the computer ate my work. Now I don't remember what I wrote. Okay, here's what I _do_ remember: I'm babysitting and watching _The Fairly OddParents_. She and I love the older episodes; and we both love the antifairies. I'm a huge fan of Anti-Cosmo. Okay, let's go back to _House_. This one – 1.12: Sports Medicine – starts off at February 11th. It's a Tuesday. I'm not sure how direct they'll talk about Valentine's Day, but we'll get there when we get there. This is the first one where it gets kinda non canon. I'll just say, House isn't going on the non-date with Cameron...**

 **Notice stands to claim.**

It is nine o'clock in the morning. House and Wilson have just checked in. Wilson has a case file in hand, and House is talking on his cell phone. They exit the elevator on the floor leading to their offices.

"He's got osteopenia. His bones are too thin to fix the arm."

House doesn't answer; he's too busy on the phone. "No, price is not a problem if you have what I need."

House hangs up and slips the phone into his front jeans pocket. Wilson starts up again. "Osteo-"

House cuts him off. "Young man?"

"How did you know?"

"Well, if he's an old man, osteopenia would just be a fact of life, you make him comfortable, send him home, which means you're just boring me. So he's young, which means it's most likely caused by cancer, and you're here because you haven't found it. Have you looked really, really hard?"

"MRI and PET scan are both negative."

House stops outside his office. "Well, how old is he? Maybe the osteopenia is just early onset."

Wilson pulls out a laminated baseball card from his wallet. "Well, let's see. Born 9/21/77."

House's slightly interested look turns to one of pure excitement. "It's Hank Wiggen?" He snatches the card from Wilson's hand and examines at it. "He signed it, sweet! "To Jimmy Wilson, the Cy Young of medicine." You ask for that?"

Wilson suddenly feels embarrassed with his best friend's over-excitement. "I-just the Jimmy part. The bone's too thin to support the kind of surgery that would let him pitch again. But if we figure out what's causing the osteopenia, we can reverse the bone damage, then do the surgery."

House grins, handing the card back. He walks into his office, beckoning Wilson to follow. "Beat the Yankees, and save the free world. C'mon, Jimmy. Let's talk baseball."

Meanwhile, Foreman is running late. He's still in his bedroom, with a girl his age. They're getting dressed.

"You should think about it, Eric. It's not like I'm asking you to meet my parents. It's just a party with some people you haven't seen in a long while. Because you work too much."

"I-I dunno, Sharon. I just feel kinda weird after what it turned into."

"You know, if it'll solve your ethics problem, you can reimburse me for these." She empties a box of condoms onto the bed. "What are they, five dollars and fifty-seven cents, I believe?" He grins and she comes around the bed to stand close to him. "You let me know about Friday?"

"Mm-hmm."

He gives her a quick kiss and she leaves. He puts his tie on, and then spots her underwear under the covers. He picks it up and chuckles victoriously. After looking around as though someone might catch him, he pockets her underwear in his satchel. He then makes his descent down the stairs, only for his dad to call out as he reaches the door.

"Busy night, Son?"

"When did you get in?"

"It doesn't matter." The man glares, walking over with his coffee mug. "I talk. You assume I lie. You lie. I pretend there's nothing wrong. You leave. Off to work. Or so you say. How do I know?"

"Jesus, Dad…"

Eric's dad whips his head around, some of the coffee sloshing out. It scalds Eric's hand, but neither Foreman makes a move on it. Eric's dad glares at him 'for taking the Lord's name in vain'. Eric's eyes beg for silent forgiveness. Finally, the younger Foreman looks away in ashamed apology. Eric's dad nods, and the teenager leaves the house. As Foreman waits for the bus to arrive, Chase, Cameron and House are gathered in the differential conference room.

Chase flips through the file, over the fact that it's a ball player. "None of the usual suspects! Age isn't right, in apparent perfect health before this incident, MRI and PET scan negative for tumors."

Cameron doesn't care about who he is in the slightest. "Test him again, it's gotta be cancer."

Foreman walks in, slightly out of breath. He falls into a chair. "Sorry I'm late. Car broke down on the interstate."

House checks his watch, and then looks back at Foreman skeptically. "Don't believe you." He turns back to the others. "Chem 7 also shows a poor kidney function. Now why would a guy in his twenties have a poor kidney?"

Cameron nods. "Cancer. It first attacks the bones, and then the kidneys."

"Come on, people." House pulls out his own laminated baseball card. It isn't signed. "He was 17 and 7! His ERA was 2.1."

Cameron rolls her eyes. "You want it to be his kidneys, because if it's his kidneys, then maybe we can treat it, maybe we can fix it. And if it's cancer, then he'll never pitch again. If this were a regular guy who came in and broke his arm lifting a box, you would've packed him up and sent him home!"

"My God, you're right, I lost my head. All life is equally sacred. And I promise you, the next knitting injury that comes in here, we're on it like stink on cheese." Chase smirks and House continues. "He weighed 175 his rookie year."

"Stop."

"Now he's 195 after playing a year in Japan. Why?"

"He let himself go."

"Steroids!" Foreman pipes up from the coffee maker, wanting to be in the loop. "I mean, the guy was a drug user, I'm sure he wouldn't have balked at pumping up through chemicals."

Chase nods. "That'd explain the weight gain. And the kidney problems."

"And the bone loss. Go ask him what he's on. When he says nothing, have him pee in a cup." Chase leaves, and House turns his attention to Foreman. "If your car breaks down, you're an hour late, not twenty minutes. And twenty minutes isn't late enough to use a clever excuse like car trouble."

"I was coming in early."

"Huh. Unprompted lies, that's a bad sign. Either a guilty conscience or something personal's going on." Foreman sits down with his coffee. House eyes him. "See, that's all you had to do, Just walk in, sit down, do your job."

House leaves the room, heading over to talk to Wilson about more baseball. Meanwhile, Chase goes to confront Hank in his room. His girlfriend Lola is at his side.

"No, no, I never took them."

"We're gonna need a urine sample."

"Oh no, you don't trust me." He looks at the IV in his arm and turns to face Lola. "Baby, I'm worried about taking this morphine."

"You're in pain; the doses are monitored. It's not a slip. Besides, opiates weren't your thing."

"They should've been. Whoa…"

"Mr. Wiggen? The urine sample."

"I wanna say no, so I am. No."

Lola smiles softly to Chase. "Trust is a big issue in early recovery. He really did gain the weight honestly."

"If you say so." He moves to the other side of the room.

Hank sighs as Chase sits down. "You're not getting it." He looks at Lola. "He thinks I'm an idiot."

Chase smiles. "He sure does." He looks up to Lola as well, and points to the catheter bag that is collecting urine from Hank.

Three hours later, Cameron and Foreman are in the lab.

Cameron smirks as they run the test. "Should we save the sample? Dr. Sportsfan can put it in Lucite and hang it around his neck."

Foreman smirks as well. "Hey, Friday night? Can you cover for me?"

"I think so." Foreman grins for a few seconds, until Cameron realizes something. "Oh, Friday. No, I'm sorry, I have to go to that oncology thing-that seminar."

"Oh."

"What's going on?"

"Pa-Uh, a dinner with the…drug rep. Casting pharmaceuticals."

Cameron snorts lightly. "Arnie? Claims he has five hundred lawyer jokes, but only ever tells one?"

"Uh…new guy."

The day goes by quickly, and they aren't much farther on the case. House leaves his office early and is talking on his cell phone again as he leaves the elevator.

"You need cash?…Ah, no, I, I don't have that much on me…No no, it's not a problem. No, I'll be over by six. 'Kay." He hangs up as he reaches the main desk. He nods to the receptionist. Five p.m., Dr. House checks out."

Cuddy walks over with a clipboard. "It's 4:45."

House shrugs. "I was rounding up."

Cuddy rolls her eyes, handing him the board. "Carol Moffett, please see Dr. House in Exam Room one."

The woman in question gets to her feet with difficulty. House walks over.

"Whoa, whoa, not so fast, Kathy."

She grimaces. "It's Carol."

House checks his watch. "Uh, trouble with the leg?"

Carol nods, and House spots a bridal magazine in her purse. "When's the wedding?"

Carol quirks an eyebrow but answers. "This Saturday."

"Not much time to fit into that pretty dress, and no time for practical shoe shopping. You're running two miles a day further than you should be."

Carol rubs her calf. "It hurts right here-"

House nods. "New shoes, less miles, and ex-nay on the afternoon Cokes, you're gonna look beautiful." He moves on to the next guy. "What's wrong with you?"

"I can't get my contact lenses out-" The twenty-something man complains.

House leans close. "Out of what? They're not in your eyes."

He gawks back. "But they're red."

House rolls his eyes. "That's because you're trying to remove your corneas." He quickly walks over to next man who is still wearing his dentistry nametag. "What's wrong with you?"

"Uh, lately, my wife has noticed that-"

House glances to his watch and then gestures at Cuddy. "Yeah, yeah. Symptoms, we're working on a personal best here."

"Numbness in my feet and hands, constipation-"

Cuddy comes over to House, but the older teenager ignores her. "And?"

Cuddy whispers in a low voice, "Maybe he doesn't feel comfortable talking about his private matters-"

"Well, neither would I, if I was having trouble controlling my pee pee! Look. You're a dentist. Nitrous oxide poisoning, which means you're either dipping into your own supply, or you've got a bad valve in the office. Laughing gas rehab's probably more expensive than the plumber. Meanwhile, get yourself some B12."

House moves to the last victim. "Who's left?"

A kid their age walks up blindly. "I can't see…" House and Cuddy look a little alarmed. "Nah, I'm just screwing with you." House then looks pointedly at Cuddy, who smiles. "It's a hangover, my English Lit prof. told me he'd fail me next time if I didn't show up with a doctor's note."

House shrugs. "Well, make friends with the dentist. He can give you a note, and maybe a little nitrous to take the edge off."

House observes the clock, which reads 4:47. He smirks and walks through the door. Cameron and Foreman suddenly catch up to him. Cameron speaks up.

"Dr. House! He tested negative for steroids."

"Elevated beta 2 proteins, though, could be cancerous. Amyloidosis, or lymphoma."

House nods. "Or steroids. You guys got any money on you?"

Cameron frowns, reaching into her pocket. "He tested negative for steroids. I, um, I have a couple twenties on me."

"Fifty of them?" Cameron stares back. She's shocked. House rolls his eyes, glancing again to his watch. "Foreman?"

"The fat pad biopsy and abdominal CT scan were negative for the cancers, but-"

"Well, that just leaves us with steroids!"

Cameron shows him the paper. "He tested negative for steroids."

"Less money is made by biochemists working on a cure for cancer than by their colleagues struggling valiantly to find ways to hide steroid use. But there's one thing they can't hide…"

He checks his watch and lets out an angry huff as he walks past the ducklings. He barges into Hank's room with the ducklings standing in the back. House walks to the bed with a grin plastered on his face.

"Hi. I'm Dr. House. And this is the coolest day of my life."

His grin stretches, though now with a mischievous glint. He whips the covers off Hank's bed, and the ducklings look away feeling embarrassed. "See? Steroid use shrinks the testicles."

Hank pulls the covers back on. "I am clean, man. No steroids, no nothing."

"Your lips say no, your prunes say yes. Hypogonadism. Isn't that a great word? Thanks, we don't get to say it nearly enough." He looks at Cameron. "Start him on Lupron right away."

House walks out the door, but Foreman joins him in the hallway.

"These freaks are willing to defile themselves for mass entertainment, for money. I feel sorry for them." He pops a Vicodin as Lola runs after him.

"He drops a clean urine, denies using steroids, then you're giving him a drug for what, steroid abuse?"

"…No, no, it's not. It-it's got calcium in it. It's _very_ good for the bones. Basically, on a molecular level, it's just milk." Lola nods and walks back to the room. House looks at Foreman. "How long do you figure before I get a call from Cuddy?"

House is called on the loud speaker before the lift reaches the lobby floor. House sighs and makes his way to Cuddy in her office.

"You put him on Lupron."

"Uh-huh."

"And, you told them it was like milk."

"Yes."

"Is there any way in which that is not a lie?"

House thinks for a moment. "It's creamy. But, I had three reasons."

Cuddy crosses her arms. "Good ones?"

"Well, we'll see in a minute, I'm just making them up now…He lied to me first."

"Your mother did teach you two wrongs don't make a right."

"If he lies to me about not taking steroids, then I lie to him about not treating steroids, he's cured. Adds up for me-"

Cuddy sighs. "Second reason."

"If I told him the truth, he wouldn't have taken the stuff."

"And if he told you the truth, what would this stuff do to him?"

"…Severe respiratory problems."

"Third reason."

"I wanted to eliminate the placebo effect."

"Excellent!" She walks over to her desk. "You and your lawyer can write a paper."

"Which brings me to my fourth reason."

"I thought you said there were only three." She sits down.

House shrugs. "I thought you'd buy one of them."

"Seriously?"

"He's not gonna sue."

"Because his lawyer is a nice guy, who realizes it's unfair to blame us for ruining this kid's hundred million-dollar career."

"Good guess, but no. If the Lupron causes respiratory problems, it means he's not on steroids, which means there's something else wrong with him. And the choices, for that something else, are almost universally very bad."

Cuddy lets House off the hook. He checks the time to see it's half an hour to six, and he quickly leaves the hospital. Cameron leaves at seven-thirty. At eleven, Chase and Foreman are preparing to leave when Hank is gasping for air. Foreman puts an oxygen mask over his face, and Chase gives him an inhaler.

The following morning, a little past ten, Hank is apparently asleep or unconscious. He is now hooked up to a respirator. House is with Cameron and Foreman in his office. Foreman has come in late, again.

"Osteopenia messing his bones up. Hypogonadism. Impaired liver function, kidney function, and…we have managed to find the only professional athlete in the galaxy who is not on steroids. AND it's not cancer. So, what's killing him? Who shares my suspicions that the Yankees were somehow involved?"

"Shrunken testicles indicate his body's not putting out enough testosterone."

House glances at Foreman by the coffee maker and checks his watch. "Throw out the lungs. That was the Lupron, my fault. Don't worry, I'll send him a nice note."

"What about something environmental? Arsenic, mercury, the symptoms could indicate-"

"Pretty small environment. Wife's fine, no one else is sick."

Chase walks in from checking on the patient. "If you throw out the kidneys, everything else adds up. The testicles, the bones, the impaired liver function, could all be caused by a breakdown of his adrenal glands."

House grins. "Addison's disease, I like it. Mainly of course, because the treatment is…"

Cameron rolls her eyes. "Steroids."

"Enough irony for all of us."

"Treatment would cause him to retain fluid. With the kidneys almost shut down already, he'll die."

"Well, we'll get him a new kidney." Cameron looks surprised at the solution.

Foreman takes a sip of the coffee. "Your theory is that Addison's is causing all the symptoms except for the kidney problems. What's causing the kidney problems?"

"Cameron, if you could make an ironic guess right about now?"

"He tested nega-"

Chase cuts her off with a grin. "Negative for steroids."

"Agreed. He's not on steroids now. If he was on them anytime in the last five years, it could've caused the kidney damage."

An hour later, House is in Hank's room with Lola.

"You see, kidneys don't wear watches. Sure, gallbladders do, but it doesn't matter, 'cause kidneys can't tell time. Steroid damage could take years."

Lola shakes her head. "No steroids. How many times does he have to tell you?"

"I don't know. How many times did he lie about cocaine before coming clean with the league?"

Hank frowns. "That is completely different."

"Oh, that's right, I remember. You never did come clean. The league was out to get you, they faked the blood tests, you had to get yourself a lawyer-"

"If Hank says he never used steroids, that's the truth."

"That's too bad. Because our theory is that the kidney damage is caused by A, and everything else is caused by B. The beauty of this theory is that we can treat A and B. But if you add the kidney symptoms back into the mix, then we are looking at another letter altogether, one that is apparently not in the alphabet. Can't fix the bones, no more baseball, no more breathing…no more brain function."

"Get another explanation."

"Okay. Yeah. Think I've got one in my other pants."

House turns to leave, but he stops when Hank calls out. "Hold on. Five years ago, Bangor, Maine. My pitching coach had me on something, I never knew what it was."

"And you never tried too hard to find out either."

"I gained twelve pounds of muscle in like, four weeks." Lola looks troubled as he speaks. "I'm sorry, baby."

Said pitching coach, Warner, comes rushing in with a colorful balloon bunch, bopping House in the head with one.

"How you doin' Doc?"

House nods. "Good. Very good, yeah."

Another hour later, House and Cuddy in her office…again.

"You want me to put Hank Wiggen on the transplant list."

"He needs a new kidney. I was thinking the kidney people might have some."

"Well, they like to save them for people who have-how do I put this- kidney problems."

"He's a professional ballplayer, brings joy to millions. Do you really want to be known as the hospital that sent him home to die?" He puts a fist down on some papers on her desk.

Cuddy looks up sarcastically. "That's a great idea, we can be the hospital that killed two people. The guy who deserved the kidney, and the ballplayer we bumped up the list when we weren't even sure what was wrong with him."

"Everything else is related to the Addison's."

"The test for Addison's was inconclusive."

"The test for Addison's is _always_ inconclusive."

"Why do we do it at all? We should just ask you."

She tries to take a paper from under House's fist; he doesn't budge. She gives him an irritated look. House moves his hand, allowing her to take the paper.

"You're not putting him on the list."

"Your powers of deduction are breathtaking."

"You take a perverse pleasure at turning me down."

"It's what I live for. Once in a while, though, try to ruin my day. Ask me something I can say "yes" to."

Hank is still having trouble breathing when House enters his office. Lola is sitting in the chair behind his desk.

"Oh, I'm sorry Doctor, I didn't know you were busy. Want me to come back?"

"Is he on the list?"

"No." He walks over to her.

"Then I'm giving him one of mine."

"…Okay."

Lola raises an eyebrow. "You're not gonna tell me it's a bad idea? Why give a kidney to someone who might not be able to use it?"

"Not my area. That is, however, my chair."

Lola gets up. "When do we do it?"

House sits down. "Very noble gesture. My favorite: kind-dramatic, yet completely empty. The chances of non-identical twins being a match-"

"Do you live alone?"

"You writing a book?"

"I made it a question just because it's more polite. You got a big "Keep Out" sign stapled on your forehead."

"That explains it; I told them to put it on my door."

Lola huffs. "Even if real human contact is something you don't have or even want, or need, you should at least be able to see it in other people."

"Yeah. Right. True love. That's just how we match organs these days. There's a couple in France-high school sweethearts-they're trading brains."

"We're a match. Run your tests."

She jumps up and leaves. As the ducklings head out to an Under 21 club, they drop off the test to be run. At six-thirty, Chase and Alison are sitting at a bar. A cell phone, Eric's, on the counter buzzes. Curious, Alison picks it up. She and Chase look at it, and grin at each other. Foreman comes in and sits down.

"Hey. The lab call, is she a match?"

Cameron is still smiling. "Haven't heard yet."

Chase sips his virgin strawberry daiquiri. "You got a text message, though. Friday night-very cryptic."

"Gee…thanks for checking. Can you cover for me?"

"Oncology seminar. Friday night the same thing as the car trouble?"

"I _had_ car trouble."

"House says you were lying. I believe him."

"…What's that? You got a little wet smudge at the end of your nose!"

"Hey, I like the guy. He says what he wants; does what he wants."

"He won't talk to anyone unless he can jerk them around."

"Or needs a thousand bucks." Foreman laughs. "What is with that?"

It's eight o'clock, and House has just barged into Wilson's office. Wilson doesn't look up at first, but House drops an envelope in his friend's lap, and he climbs onto an open space on the cluttered desk.

"I scored. It's a brave new world, Doc, and we are at the cutting edge. You are looking," Wilson pulls the envelope open, and his eyes widen comically. His mouth hangs open from excitement. "At two all-access passes to Paradise itself!"

Wilson finally shuts his mouth. "How much?"

"True cost, no man can say."

"Could that man's accountant say?"

House grins again. "One thousand dollars. Friday night-the biggest official monster truck jam in the history of New Jersey!"

Wilson looks horrified. "Okay, please tell me you didn't just say Friday night."

House waves his hand dismissively. "Whatever you've got, you cancel."

"I-I can't do it!"

House narrows his eyes. "Listen, they only give these tickets to owners." As he speaks, Wilson is stuttering like an idiot. "Anytime. We wanna be in the middle of the track, we're in the middle of the track. These tickets are so good…we have to sign a release. I mean it. We do this; we could die."

"I've got the oncology thing! I-I…The rectal cancer lecture, they booked me a year ago! I-I-I-I-I can't get out, there's no way out!"

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ House looks disappointed, and he turns away. "Fine. I'll ask one of my other friends." He gets up as Wilson snorts in disbelief, and he turns around. "What, you're saying I've only got one friend?"

 _Did I give off that impression?_ "Uh, and who…?"

House thinks a moment. "Marco."

"The pharmacist?"

House shrugs, tapping the pill bottle in his pocket. "He makes me happy."

Back at the Under 21 club, the ducklings are gossiping about House. They're taking turns trying to solve why House needs so much money.

Chase raises his glass for another refill. "It's hookers."

Alison gasps. "Oh, my God!"

Eric agrees. "Multiple hookers! But House is House, right? He's gotta have his way. Four or five of 'em."

Alison looks disgusted. "That's not even funny!"

Eric lowers his voice, raising his empty daiquiri in request for a refill. "What, you don't think he has sex?"

"No, of course he-"

Chase chortles at the thought. "Of course not, he doesn't have sex, he makes love!" [

Alison can't help laughing. "I didn't say that."

Eric's phone rings, and he goes into business mode. Chase and Alison, on the other hand, decide to hit the dance floor as Outkast begins to play _Hey Ya_. House is sitting outside of Hank's room, twirling his cane. Lola comes and sits in the chair across from him.

"If you have the results, I'd like you to talk to both of us. If you don't, wait for me to-"

"Believe me, I'd much rather be with your better half. And by better half, of course, I mean the one who struck out Sammy Sosa on three pitches and talks a lot less. But I thought I would talk to you first, and alone." He picks up the folder to his side and opens it. "I got your results back from the lab…you _do_ match."

Lola is shocked. "I, I do?" House nods, and Lola looks happy and relieved.

"You're also pregnant." Lola gasps, and she starts to cry as a smile spreads wide across her face; House watches her reaction carefully. "You can't be a donor." Lola snaps her attention back at him, confused. "Not in your current condition."

She swallows hard, and manages a weak smile. "Um… Excuse me…I have to go talk to my husband.

She gets up and walks quickly into Hank's room; House shuts the folder and watches her leave. Hours pass. Hank and Lola talk over various topics going on. House ends up staying the night in his office again. It is six a.m. on Thursday, February 13th, and Foreman is in Hank's room with him; he is studying a paper.

"Heart looks good. We can schedule the transplant."

Hank shakes his head. "No transplant. Lola's not gonna have an abortion."

Foreman unhooks wires from Hank's chest. "Actually, your wife just told me that she was making an appointment."

"Well, I don't care what she said."

Foreman stops and looks at him. "I think you two need to discuss this further-"

"We've been trying to get pregnant almost since we met."

"Well, it's your wife's decision whether or not she-"

"She wants to trade a child for a kidney, that's murder! I'm not gonna let her do that."

Half an hour later, Chase is at House's desk; he is just walking in the door.

"Foreman says we've got a problem with the transplant."

House walks over to the bookshelf and shuffles through it. "If she terminates the pregnancy, he's not going to let himself die on principle."

"…Would you give up a baby for someone you love?"

House turns around and gives the younger teen a piercing look. "Please tell me I don't have to decide." Chase looks hurt, and House lays off the sarcasm a little. "Depends, how long would they live?"

"Is this a pragmatic question for you?"

"Well, I've actually given this a lot of thought, and my personal tipping point is seven years, eight months, and 14 days."

"I couldn't do it."

"You found religion."

"Do you have to be religious to believe a fetus is a life?"

"There seems to be a correlation." Chase looks away; House watches him for a moment and then looks away, eyes darting awkwardly. "I'm, uh…" He fiddles with the books a moment. "Do you like monster trucks?"

Chase slowly turns to face him. "…I don't really know what they are."

"…Right." He looks down for a moment. "I got two tickets." Chase looks at him, still puzzled. "Friday night."

Chase's eyes widen. "You asking me to go with you?"

"Sure. Sounds good."

There's an awkward silence until Chase speaks again. "Like a…date?"

House nods sharply. "Exactly. Except for the "date" part." Chase stares at him, shocked speechless. House turns away quickly, embarrassed. "Forget it."

He starts to walk to the computer, and Chase calls after him. "No, I-I was gonna go to the oncology dinner…"

House nods, sitting down and not meeting his eyes. "'Course, you have to hear Wilson's lecture."

Chase shakes his head. "No. I just found out he canceled like, two weeks ago."

House's expression changes to shock; he leans back in the chair and registers this. Meanwhile, Chase comes to the doorframe, leaning against it. He makes a weird face. "So… what do we wear?"

An hour later, Chase is in Hank's room, holding two fingers against his neck while studying his heart rate.

"Still with us, Hank?"

Hank's voice slurs in response. "Yeah. My chest feels funny…"

Chase starts rubbing his fingers against Hank's neck, attempting to stabilize his heart as Foreman and a nurse rush in. "Tachycaridia. Your heart's beating too fast. We're sorting it out, but you stay with us, alright?" Foreman stares at the monitor in alarm. Chase notices and urges the patient to keep going. "Keep talking to us, Hank."

"Where's Lola…?"

Chase looks over at Foreman. "10 units of insulin sub q, an IV push"

Nurse Abigail interrupts, "It's still dropping."

"Why's his potassium up?"

Chase presses his stethoscope against Hank's chest. "Damned if I know."

Foreman mutters something under his breath. "We've got to suck the potassium out of him. We gotta get his heart rate down."

Abigail shouts into the hallway. "Need a crash cart!"

Foreman folds his arms. "It's definitely not Addison's."

Chase glances at the monitor. "It's not steroids either."

A few minutes later, House and Cameron are on the way to Hank's room.

"His heart rate is 130 and rising, like a Randy Johnson line drive."

House thinks about her metaphor for a moment. "A for effort."

"There's no point in doing the transplant. Even if he was stable enough, it's obvious that we have no idea what's wrong with him!"

In Hank's room, Chase has uncapped an IV.

"First it's too high, and now it's too low?"

Foreman moans. "His heart's not responding to the atropine."

Cameron gets a text from Chase.

"Heart rate's down to 40."

"I thought it was up."

"Now it's down. Last time he went out at 35."

Lola meets up with them. "What's wrong?"

The doctors can't answer because they aren't sure. Instead, the trio enters Hank's room.

House looks at Chase. "Hit him with the atropine before he gets to thirty-five again."

"We've already given him 3 ml." Foreman complains as Chase uncaps another IV.

"Apparently, that's not enough."

"We can't stabilize his heart rate."

"What did you do to him?"

"Kayexalate."

Foreman glances to the monitor. "His pulse was through the roof. So is his potassium."

"It wouldn't do this."

"But something did." He sighs, and heads for the door. "Call me when he's stable…or dead."

Warner is sitting next to his bed just a little before noon, talking to Hank's still figure.

"I remember the first time. You weren't even supposed to be pitching that day. I'd flown all the way to Tokyo to watch this kid, and he gets tossed for arguing a call in the first inning. Ah, your pitches…perfect. Ball seemed to go faster than your arm. It was like the rules didn't apply, like physics couldn't slow you down." He smiles at the memory. "Goddamn, it was beautiful."

Hank's eyes open, ever so slightly. "Hey, Warner." He rasps.

Warner looks at him, surprised, and then he breaks into a big grin. "Hey, kid. How ya feelin'?"

"I hurt. My arm, my head…everywhere."

"They must have dialed down the morphine. That's just wrong, you're in pain. Hey, I got something for ya." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some pills, holding them out to Hank, who looks as surprised as a severely tired person can look.

"No…"

Warner nods. "A doc in St. Louis gave 'em to me for a migraine."

"I'm an addict. I-I can't take that."

"Even Lola was okay with the morphine. This stuff's just a little stronger. Go on."

Hank slowly reaches a hand to take one, and takes an imaginary pill from the imaginary Warner. It's a hallucination. House is at the end of the bed, studying Hank's movements carefully. As House is watching, Wilson comes in. House glances at him, and then continues watching Hank.

"I'll just try one, Warner."

House whispers to his friend. "Three more symptoms. Heart rate up, heart rate down, now he's hallucinating."

"…You gotta promise not to tell Lola…"

Wilson frowns. "He's not just dreaming?"

"No REM. He's _actually_ awake."

"Drugs?"

"Not psychedelics, not with the heart symptoms."

"All hallucinations would point to digitalis. It would also mess up his heart. But, he's not on it, and why would he take it?"

"…Yeah. Pithy analysis." He gets up. "I can see why they asked you to speak at the cancer dinner. I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it." _Why are you lying to me?_

"I'm sorry about the monster trucks." _Should I tell him? I shouldn't tell him. He hasn't acted mad. Better not ruin anything._

"No, I think it's great. You're…giving back."

"The only thing is…" House turns around. "the digitalis…it would only explain the later symptoms, not the original ones."

House thinks about this, and nods slightly to Wilson. He leaves the room, and immediately heads for the baseball stadium. Sure enough, he finds Warner. Instead of interrupting him from talking to another player who doesn't look even remotely interested, House takes a seat a few rows over.

"It's got a lotta movement, problem is everybody sees the movement. Yer throwing yer curve ball, like yer throwing a curve ball. Deception, that's it."

He suddenly spots House, and moves away to sit down next to him. "How'd you get in here?"

"Spoke Spanish. Told them I was the new shortstop from the Dominican."

"How's Hank doin'?"

"Lousy." He answers, studying Warner's hands with a keen interest. "Around your fingernails, that swelling, it's called clubbing. Hippocrates noticed that a lot of his friends who also had that, tended to frequently grab their chests and die."

"Yeah, I got a heart condition. What's wrong with Hank?"

"What do you take for it?"

"Digitalis."

"Got 'em with you?"

Warner reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a half-empty/half-full bottle. It puzzles the man as he searches through his pockets. "That's weird. I just filled this prescription a couple days ago. There's another bottle here."

"Don't bother." Warner stops and looks at him. "Hank Wiggen stole your pills. He tried to kill himself."

A couple hours later, close to 2:30, House is in Hank's room, watching him intensely.

"So what happened? He left the bottle open, while he went to get some water? Next time, just take the whole bottle."

Hank shakes his head slowly. "Hey man, you got no right-"

"See, people remember how many they've got. Date's right on the label, number of pills, regular person can do the math. But a junkie doesn't have to. It's how many pills he's got left, that's all he's thinking about. Bought a big insurance policy?"

Hank laughs bitterly. "This isn't about the money."

"Not for you, no. Most reputable stores won't cash your checks after you're dead. But for Lola-well, girls like that, they're all about the money-"

"Don't you say that. She already saved my life. I was dead in Japan and she brought me back, everything since then, that's gravy, it's more than I deserve."

"You _owe_ her."

"Everything."

House nods. "So, the attempted suicide, the scaring her to death, that's-what is that, that's-gratitude? Love? Yeah, I get that. We'll take out what you did to yourself yesterday, we're back to the kidneys and the bones."

As he stands up, he sets his cane down near Hank's urine bag. "I'm scheduling the transplant."

He turns to leave, but Hank lashes out suddenly, grabbing House's coat. House stumbles against the urine bag, and his pants get drenched. He looks down at his pants in disgust and anger. " _Never_ visit a patient."

"I want that baby!" House fixes him with a cold glare. "E-Even if I'm gone, that's a piece of me, and Lola. Breathing. Walkin' around town. Goin' to baseball games." He releases House's coat. "If there's any more transplant talk from you, or Lola, or anybody else…I won't screw it up this time. I'll take myself out for good."

House's glare melts into defeat as he nods slowly. "I'll start treating the Addison's, which will most likely destroy what's left of your kidneys-"

"Fine. Start the treatment."

The elevator doors open; House steps out, staring at his pant leg disgustedly. He starts down the hallway, and Wilson catches up with him. He looks down at House's pants questioningly

House forcibly explains. "Hank Wiggen pissed on me. What d'you think these pants are worth on eBay?"

"I've got some big-boy diapers in my office, the rep. hands them out like candy."

House grimaces. "Is it that bad?"

Wilson rolls his eyes sarcastically. "No! Not if you like the smell of urine-"

House decides to use his previously stocked information against his friend now. "'Course, why should I trust someone who lies about what he's doing Friday night?" He stops to face Wilson, who now teeters on his feet.

"Question is, what are you really doing Friday night? Or more to the point, what could possibly be better than monster trucks? Or are we breaking up?"

He turns to enter his office. Wilson lets out a long sigh, and then follows House inside. House is rummaging through his duffel bag.

"…Stacy's coming into town this weekend, we're having dinner. Just…catching up."

"I definitely had pants here." He turns to face Wilson. "Wait a second, is that Stacy the Stripper? I heard she's playing Atlantic City."

 _No, your ex…_ "No, Stacy the Constitutional Lawyer."

House looks mildly surprised for a second. "You thought I couldn't handle this news."

 _Damn, he knows me. I wonder how long he's known._ Wilson's eyes fall to the floor and he nods. House turns his attention to the bag.

"You talk to her a lot?"

 _This was a mistake. I should just go to the monster trucks. He's probably just gonna go with someone at the bus stop._ "No. It's been a long time." House continues staring at the bag. Wilson fidgets. "If you don't want me to see her-"

"What is this, eighth grade?" He looks at Wilson. "I'm fine."

"…It's fine if you're upset-"

 _Damn it! Shut the fuck up, Wilson! Stop talking about it!_ House suddenly snaps his head up. "No! It's…" He zips the bag quickly and controls his voice, now looking calmer. "I have no right to be upset. You two are friends. You should see her. Say hi for me."

 _This isn't good._ "So…you're okay."

House carelessly tosses the bag under his desk and grabs his cane. "I'm not the cancer doctor who's lying about the cancer dinner. I'm not the one who's betraying all those…bald-headed dying kids." Wilson smirks, and House heads out the door. "I'm gonna go get some pants from the shop. I stink."

House continues down the hallway and unfortunately runs into Lola.

"You're treating him for Addison's and you don't think it's gonna work?!"

"He tried to kill himself."

"I know. He's confused. We can have another baby, I can make him understand that. I'm having an abortion. We do the trans-"

"No."

Lola sounds indignant about being cut off. "I can make decisions about my body."

"And he can make decisions about his. He doesn't want your kidney."

Lola looks shocked and upset. "So…he'll die?"

"…Probably."

Lola starts to cry, and House looks uncomfortable. She looks at him with tears in her eyes. She leans forward and catches him in a hug. House looks shocked, to say the least. He makes sure that the hallway is empty, and then leans down closer to her ear as she sobs into his shoulder.

"If you keep that appointment, he'll also probably die. Keep the baby." He reaches up and awkwardly pats her shoulder. He makes a face as the smell of the urine meets his nose. "…Are you just being polite?"

She pulls away from him, confused. He gestures to his leg. "See, my pants are…"

She sniffles. "Oh, they're all wet."

House looks at her, puzzled. "…You can't smell that?"

She shakes her head, and he looks intently at her, processing this. It's five-thirty. Chase, Alison and Eric are at a diner. There's another plate at the table. Eric is elsewhere, finding his date most likely. Alison and Chase are chatting while they wait for their food.

"Think she'll abort anyway, try to force his hand?" Chase questions.

"No, she's not gonna risk losing him." Alison shakes her head, looking at Chase and smiling in amazement.

Chase gives her a strange look. "That's funny?"

"N-no, the monster trucks? House asking you, that's… I guess that's funny."

"I was the first person he ran into, he just…asked me."

Alison purses her lips. "Yeah, like a date!"

"Exactly. Except for the "date" part."

Alison keeps smiling. Sharon comes over, toting a glass of apple cider.

"If the patient decides to go the dialysis route, we got some product you should check out." She smiles as Foreman sits down. "Hey, Dr. Foreman."

"Courtesy of the generous Sharon and the good folks at Casting Pharmaceuticals." Chase raises his glass of virgin daiquiri.

"I was just telling the guys about the Bermuda retreat in April. They're only letting five interns come with and I've been chosen."

Alison smiles. "Three days of sun and scuba, and one hour of lecture."

House suddenly comes out of nowhere and walks up to the table. Chase chortles a bit.

"Oh God, do we have to go to the lecture?"

House ignores him, looking down at Sharon. "So, you're the new Arnie."

"Dr. House. It's, uh, good to see you."

Foreman glares at House, obviously thinking the older teenager is about to embarrass him. Instead, House gets straight to business.

"Would you get me a coffee? Black, no sugar."

Sharon smiles confusedly, and leaves the table. House sits down, turns his attention to the ducklings. "Okay, so who is it?" When no one answers, he scoffs. "Come on, she's sleeping with one of you." Chase snorts, and House looks hopefully at Cameron. "Oh God, please tell me it's you."

Cameron looks shocked. "She buys lunches! She doesn't-"

"Don't worry, you're not gay…you're adventurous!" The ducklings roll their eyes.

"You think she's gonna prostitute herself? The three of us are that important to her?"

House rolls his eyes. "I'm afraid not, no. The groupies sleep with the roadies in order to get to Mick."

Foreman scoffs. "And…you're Mick?"

The food comes and House eats off Sharon's plate. "That was the metaphor I was making, yes."

"Why are you here?"

House studies Foreman a moment. "Damn, it's you." All eyes on Foreman. "It's not Addison's. New symptom: the inability to smell."

"I was just in Hank's room, and he said it smelled like the men's room at Veteran's Stadium. He was right."

"We rejected environmental causes because the wife was healthy. Well, she's not. Last six months, she can't smell a thing. If you think of them as one single patient, add her symptoms to his…"

Chase nods. "Cadmium poisoning."

"It explains everything. Even why they had so much trouble getting pregnant."

Cameron cocks her head. "How could they have gotten exposed to that much cadmium?"

Foreman groans. "Unless they were eating steel and batteries for breakfast."

"So, where else is cadmium?"

"Some foods, polluted groundwater, we should check their home-"

"I think I know how it happened." Chase gains everyone's attention. "Mary Jane soil."

Chase leaves the restaurant with House. They head straight for the hospital. House waits in the hall as Chase walks into Hank's room. Lola is at Hank's bed.

"I'm gonna need another urine sample."

Lola looks affronted. "What for-"

Hank waves resignedly. "Sure, whatever you want."

Chase looks at him suspiciously. "Why wouldn't you give it to me before but now it's no problem?"

"I'm dyin', right?"

"So you've got nothing to lose this time. Begs the question…" He walks closer to Hank. "What were you worried about last time?" Lola looks down at Hank, confused. Chase looks directly at Hank "The funny thing is, when we tested you before, we were just looking for steroids. What should we look for now, Hank?"

Lola comes to a slow realization. She moves away from him slightly. "Hank? What's the story?"

Chase is feeling smug. "A little weed every now and then when no one was looking?"

Lola walks over to the window, shocked. "I don't believe this. We quit."

" _You_ did. If you'd kept going, you wouldn't have just lost your sense of smell."

"No, I quit the hard stuff. I just needed to relax."

"Based on the symptoms, you're a lot more than a social user."

Lola scowls bitterly. "So you've been lying to me all this time."

"…I'm sorry."

"There must've been cadmium in the soil where the marijuana was grown. Some people get bone loss, kidney failure, some people's testes shrink, and some people lose their sense of smell. We'll start treating it right away. You should be fine by opening day. Baseball's in the summer, right?"

Lola sets into panic mode. "It didn't hurt the baby, did it? The cadmium?"

"If you've been clean, the baby should be fine."

"Okay."

Chase moves to the other end of the room. House moves from the hallway to wait for the elevator. Cuddy joins him. In the room, Hank stares at Lola desperately.

"Please. I'll stop everything, I'll-I'll go to meetings every day! Lola."

Lola stares at him determinedly. "Twice a day."

House and Cuddy exit the elevator, habitually walking to her office.

"How'd the ballplayer doing?"

"Much better."

"Too bad about his career."

"What d'you mean?"

"Major League Baseball's collective bargaining agreement requires medical reports on all treatment. Given Hank's history he's not likely to get much leniency." They stop outside of her office.

"Why should they care that he's being treated for Addison's?"

Cuddy eyes him suspiciously. "You're not treating him for Addison's!"

"My report says I am."

"You're lying on the report?!"

"Everybody does stupid things. It shouldn't cost them everything they want in life."

Cuddy speaks hesitantly. "No, it shouldn't, but it usually does." A smile crosses her face. "On the other hand, it means someone can actually beat the Yankees. See you Saturday."

She enters her office, and House leaves. Friday comes soon. The team has a day off. Foreman and Sharon are at a party. It's in someone's living room. The music is down pretty low, and the lights are dim and lazy. A few people are smoking and drinking in corners, but almost everyone else is paired off.

"So what about House, any way to get him down there?" Sharon asks.

Eric raises an eyebrow, lowering them to a chair. "You really wanna…talk about work?"

She stares into his eyes with a smile. "No. Not at all…"

Cameron decides to use her free day by spending it with Hank and Lola. While she doesn't care much for sports in general, she's come to like them as people. She gently stretches Hank's arm as Lola watches. Hank grins at her, and she smiles back.

At the monster truck rally, House and Chase come around the corner, eating cotton candy. Their faces are full of excitement.

"That was amazing!" Chase exclaims.

House nods. "I'm telling you, Gravedigger never disappoints."

Chase sees a couple pass by, arms around each other. He purposely bumps into House as Wilson often does. "You ever think about getting married?"

House tosses his candy stick and lowers his voice. "Well now, let's not ruin a lovely night out by getting personal."

They walk along in silence for a few seconds. House looks over at Chase's half-eaten cotton candy cone.

"I lived with someone for a while. You gonna finish that?"

Chase smirks and hands his cotton candy to House. He only has time to grab a piece off before Chase snatches it back playfully, ignoring his mumbled protests and laughing.

Chase looks around the nearly empty parking lot. "I'll race you to the car!"

 **I like my change where House goes on a not-date with Chase rather than Cameron. That was actually just something I thought about doing halfway through. I love how it turned out.** **Chase is** _ **totally**_ **bisexual.**


	13. Chapter 13

**"Velcome," to 1.13 – Cursed. Lucky 13! Hope everyone had an awesome Halloween and a fun Dia de Los Muertos! Thank you to all 565 views i've gotten so far! I love you all! Please, i'd like to know about ya'll! Write and comment. Review! I've got one reviewer, and he/she is awesome. But i'd really like to hear from more of ya'll. Don't be afraid!**

 **I'm actually watching this episode on my phone via headphones. I'm in the back of my class, trying not to get caught. The laptop is on my desk and I'm betting the teacher thinks I'm taking notes. Hopefully, teacher will also notice I've got my hood up and I don't want to answer questions…**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

It is ten a.m. February 21st. House is looking for something in his office, while Cuddy is hounding him to take a case.

"Male, spiking fever, congested chest and coughing up green sputum, pain in breathing –"

"Baffling. Though I vaguely recall a disease called noomonia, numania?"

"But his X-ray and CT scan show an atypical pattern for pneumonia."

"Pneumonia! That's it. Just a guess here, but are his parents big donors?"

"No infiltrate! Just enlarged hilar lymph nodes."

"Tiny unicorns goring his bronchial tubes would be cooler. And the way you're ignoring my question… wow, they're extremely big donors."

Cuddy continues to ignore him. "He's not responding to cefuroxime, his pulsox is dropping much faster than it should for pneumonia, and plus, he's got an odd little rash."

"Excessive irritation. He's seven, he's on auto-stroke –"

"On his arm. Papular lesion, one centimeter, on top of a long thin scab."

"Ah, you need a dermatologist. If it's dry, keep it wet, if it's wet, keep it dry, if it's not supposed to be there, cut it off. I never could master all of that." House finds what he's been looking for – a stray Vicodin. "There you are. Were you scared? It's okay. You're home now."

Cuddy rolls her eyes as he takes the pill. She begins to walk away when House calls after her.

"Cuddy. As a special favor to you –"

"No!" She smirks triumphantly. "Admit it, I got you with the rash."

House snatches the chart. "The rash is a total snooze. Unless it's connected to the pneumonia. Then it's party time."

An hour later, the ducklings have been called. House is writing on the clear board.

"Purulent sputum, dyspnea, bronchi bilaterally. What causes this kind of rash?"

"Legionnaire's disease?" The Aussie guesses.

Cameron shrugs. "Usually means industrial ventilation systems, convention centers. He's seven years old."

"Send off a urine antigen and check if he's joined the Elks. Next?"

Cameron goes for, "Fungal."

"Excellent. Maybe the lodge went spelunking."

Foreman smacks the table. "Chlamydia and pneumonia."

Cameron glares at him. "Seven-year-olds don't have sex."

"Their mistake. That's it? Other possibilities?"

Chase frowns. "What if you're thinking about this backwards?"

"The rash came first, caused the pneumonia. Nice."

"Rickettsial. Tick bites. Nymphal ticks are out now, they're bloodthirsty little bastards."

Foreman diagrees. "Rash would be more pustular."

"Not always. And there's only one rash, which fits."

Cameron agrees with Foreman. "New Jersey, it's most likely Lyme disease."

"All right. Let's keep him on fluids and cefuroxime to be safe. And biopsy that rash. And take another history. Even if we don't learn what's causing this we definitely need to know if seven-year-olds are getting any action."

The team disperses. Chase and Cameron go to take samples from their seven-year-old patient Gabe. The boy's twenty-two-year-old dad Jeffrey has joined the twenty-three-year-old mom Sarah. Chase and Cameron obviously feel a bit awkward as they take the samples.

"What are you doing now?" Jeffrey asks.

"We're collecting fluids from the rash." Cameron doesn't look up.

"Why?" Jeffrey scrutinizes her. _How can you be a doctor? You're just a teenager. You're less than ten years older than my son._

"They know what they're doing, Jeffrey." Sarah cuts his thoughts off.

"Oh, great endorsement coming from the woman who thought it was a nasty cold. If I'd had him last week and –"

"This isn't helping."

Cameron silently agrees with Sarah. "We're checking to see if your son has a tick bite."

Chase turns to the boy. "Gabe, have you been camping recently? Playing sports outside, anything like that?"

Gabe looks down. "I'm not that good at sports."

"No hanging out anywhere new, strange places?"

Jeffrey breaks in again. "We've been through this. We don't let him run wild through the neighborhood." He looks to Sarah. "Right?"

An awkward silence follows. Chase coughs. "Okay, this might be a bit delicate. We need to know if you're sexually active."

"I beg your pardon? Who do you think my son –"

"Mr. Reillich, we need to –"

"No!" Gabe shouts, followed by a coughing fit. "Nothing like that."

Chase sighs. "We've got to get another CT scan, check his lungs again."

"Third floor, right?" Jeffrey raises an eyebrow.

Cameron looks confused. "Yeah, Radiology is just –"

Chase cuts her off. "Sorry, medical personnel only."

A little later, Chase is wheeling Gabe around the hospital.

"Where's the machine?" The boy asks.

"We passed it, actually. Little tension in the room back there. Thought you could use a break. Your dad's a pretty high-powered guy."

"Yeah. He was an Air Force test pilot. Real top-gun stuff. Flew a Mach 3."

"Hard to deal with, sometimes?"

Gabe shrugs. "I guess I'm more like my mom."

"Listen, I promise to keep my mouth shut, but I need to know. You definitely haven't had any sexual contact of any kind?"

Gabe looks at him as though he'd grown a second head. "I'm seven. I'm almost eight, but I'm seven. How old are you?"

"Uh, Fifteen."

"How long have you been fifteen?"

"Since last October."

"Okay. So, I'll be eight and you'll still be fifteen. I still won't have sex. I know what it is. I know it's how babies are made. I'm not an idiot." He drops to a mocking accent. "Have you had any sexual contact of any kind?"

Chase veers his eyes away, feeling incredibly awkward. Gabe waves it off.

"Well, _I'm_ not an idiot."

Chase doesn't know what to say, so he pushes Gabe to the vending machine. After handing the kid a candy bar, Gabe pipes up again. This time, he's more hesitant.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Chase sits on a bench next to him. "I have to. It's my job."

Gabe leans over. "I'm cursed. I'm not kidding. This seance thing the kids did? It spelled out my name, said I was gonna die."

Chase nods. "First name and last name? We've got a Gabe upstairs. He's very old, very sick."

"No! It's me. I have the worst luck. One time, I broke this mirror. The next week, my parents got separated."

"My parents got split up, too. Every kid thinks like it's his fault, it never is. So what about the rest of the stuff? Any playing outside that your parents don't know about, anything like that? Maybe you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be?"

Gabe's eyes widen. "Oh, man."

"Gabe, it's important."

Half an hour later, Chase has relayed the information to the team. He's putting on his coat in the Diagnostic office. House can't get over how stupid it is.

"Secret club. What's the secret, they're all morons?"

"He fell on something in the attic, scraped his arm, got the rash the next day. Said it smelled really moldy up there."

"Fungal pneumonia without the cave. Clever."

"I'm gonna get a sample."

He turns to leave, but is blocked by an older gentleman in the doorway. Chase looks rather surprised to see him. House watches their silent exchange with interest.

"Dr. Chase. You have a few moments?"

"Sorry, I've gotta go." Chase snaps, hurrying off.

"These young doctors. It's like they don't care about people. No manners."

"My fault, probably." The older man shrugs.

"That's an interesting accent you have there. I'd say Czech, with about thirty years of Aussie."

"You have quite an ear."

"You're Chase's dad. Hard to miss, you know, the big hug and how happy he was to see you." He sips his coffee and smiles.

An hour later, Wilson is with a patient in the clinic. House enters the room.

"Need a consult."

"With a patient."

"Urgent doctor stuff."

He leaves, waiting on Wilson to follow. A few minutes later, Wilson writes a scrip and joins House as they walk out of the clinic.

"Fifteen-year-old male, sudden loss of the ability to speak –"

"Just because you got out of clinic duty doesn't mean everybody did."

"- to his father. Differential diagnosis?"

 _Fifteen? Well, Foreman lives with dad and Chase lives with grandma._ "Chase?"

House nods. "Dad swoops in, Chase swoops out."

"Dad say why he was here?"

"See? You asked. Dad comes five thousand miles and you're more curious than Junior is. Can't just be about the divorce. It's been eight years and mom's been dead for five of them. You think Daddy murdered her?"

"You want to get to the bottom of this, you're doing it exactly right. Don't talk to the people involved, drag your buddy away from work for some pointless speculation."

"You want to know how two chemicals interact. Do you ask them? No, they're going to lie through their lying little chemical teeth. Throw them in a beaker and apply heat."

Wilson stares back in mild disbelief. "Even I don't like you."

He walks off, and House shouts after him. "You know, words can hurt!"

Meanwhile, Chase has just climbed over the fence at the house Gabe told him about. He picks up the key from under the mat, and unlocks the door. There are two kids, probably about ten years old, drinking in the attic. Chase comes in, and they start to panic and try to climb out the window. Chase holds up his hands to stop them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, guys, I don't care that you're up here!"

"You a cop?"

Chase puts on rubber gloves. "Doctor. I'm treating Gabe Reillich. He said he fell over near some pipes?"

The same kid, Dave, points. "Yeah, over there."

Chase puts on a mask. "What, here?"

The other kid nods. "Yeah."

"Right, any of you guys been feeling sick lately? Rash, cold, anything?"

He begins to collect samples of the dust. The kids deny feeling sick. There's speaker noise outside, and Dave looks out the window.

"Oh, crap. He _is_ a cop!"

"Damn it!" The other kid shouts.

They run out the door, Chase walks to the window to see a policeman walking up. Chase then climbs out a window and climbs down a tree, falling a few feet from the ground. He lands painfully on his arm. He gets back around eleven-thirty. He meets up with Foreman, Cameron and House in the lab to test the sample.

"He fell on it. Some weird kind of insulation. It's old, house was built in the sixties."

"What's it made of?" Cameron asks.

"Felt. Fibers are made of what, cotton?"

House suddenly laughs obnoxiously, drawing strange looks from the team. House is reading a book on rheumatology by Rowan Chase. "Sorry, forgotten how funny your dad was."

Chase glares. "Not as funny as you."

"High praise. I know how protective kids can be of their parents." He hands his cane over to Chase and goes to look at the microscope. "Not cotton, animal hair. Get the CT scan." Foreman sets it up, and the team crowds around it. "First, find the name of the company that made the insulation and second, tell me what I'm seeing that makes me want to short their stock."

"Uh, enlarged hilar lymph nodes." Foreman doesn't really see any.

"Parabronchial thickening." Cameron answers matter-of-factly.

Chase spies something easily. "Purile effusions."

"Less obvious, more scary."

Chase squints. "Well, the mediastinum doesn't look right."

"Slightly widened." Cameron's eyes broaden. "Oh God, it can be transmitted through infected animal hair. But the gram stain would have shown –"

"No, the cefuroxime would have killed some of it, clouded the result."

"We've gotta get this kid on levaquin."

Foreman doesn't get it. "What does he have?"

"Anthrax. This house belonged to old man Hussein?"

"Maybe he _is_ cursed."

An hour later, Foreman is giving Gabe IV medications for the anthrax. Chase and Cuddy talking to Sarah and Jeffrey.

Jeffrey scoffs. "Anthrax. So, what, you think there were terrorists in that attic?"

Chase sniffles. "It's a naturally occurring bacteria. We believe it was in the insulation."

"How sick is he?" Sarah is worried.

"Anthrax is very dangerous, but we've caught it early. He's on levaquin, it's the best antibiotic we have."

"Lisa, you buy this?"

"Jeff, you've helped our hospital a lot. I wouldn't have assigned Dr. House to your case if I didn't have every confidence in –"

"But, who's this guy?"

"Jeffrey!" Sarah snaps.

"There's all these weird diseases that can cause a rash. What about leishmaniasis and filariasis?"

Cuddy tries to drive it away. "Where'd you hear about those?"

"The internet. I did some research."

"Well, those are very rare conditions."

"Oh, and anthrax grows along the interstate?"

Chase sighs. "Leishmaniasis doesn't cause pneumonia and filariasis –"

"Just look into everything, this is my son, all right?" Sarah leaves. "And I'm going to stay on top of you until I know he's safe."

Cuddynods. "I wouldn't expect anything else." Jeffrey walks off, and Cuddy turns to Chase. "Everyone's a doctor."

Beeping is heard, and all heads around swivel toward Gabe's room. The kid is having difficulty breathing. Sarah is at his side and Jeffrey is running around the room.

"Breathe, baby. It's okay." Chase and Cuddy run in. "Breathe, honey."

"His breathing! It's on the inhale!"

"What does that mean?" Sarah gasps.

Cuddy holds up her hands. "It means his airway's closing up."

She pushes Jeffrey and Sarah away from the bed.

"Is the anthrax doing it?"

Chase turns to the kid. "All right, hold still, Gabe. This is going to be a little uncomfortable." The teen doctor looks down Gabe's airway with a scope.

Cuddy is on his other side. "We've got you, it's okay."

"Two nodules in his throat."

"Airway's inhibited?"

"We've got to intubate. Ativan!"

"Pushing 3 ccs."

They move the bed out, and Foreman prepares to intubate Gabe.

"Airway's too tight."

"What's wrong? What's wrong?! You're killing him!"

Sarah pulls her ex's arm away. "Jeffrey! Jeffrey, let them do their job!"

Foreman repeats himself. "Airway's too tight, get me a smaller tube."

"We're traching."

"Smaller tube!"

Chase hands him a smaller tube, which Foreman tries to use. Cuddy remains at Gabe's side.

"His lips are cyanotic."

Sarah is alarmed. "Oh my God, he's not breathing."

"Foreman! We're traching!"

Foreman is determined. "No, I can do it, I'll get it."

"Foreman, you're not getting through!"

"He's not getting air. Oh, we have to trach him right now." Cuddy orders.

"No, I can do it."

Cuddy swabs Gabe's neck with Betadine. Chase prepares to cut, when Foreman suddenly exclaims and pulls back. There's a tiny nick on Gabe's throat. They begin to ventilate. Cuddy checks Gabe's breathing. She gives the okay, and Sarah gives Jeffrey a hug. An hour and a half later, House walks into Diagnostics with Cameron, Chase and Foreman.

"Allergic reaction to the antibiotics?"

Cameron doesn't think so. "We switched him to rifampin and there was no change in swelling."

Chase suggests they should try another antibiotic.

Foreman scoffs. "You really think he's allergic to two antibiotics?"

House ignores him. "I want to know what Dr. Chase thinks."

Chase looks back, shocked. "It's possible to think he's allergic to both anti –"

"Oh, I'm sorry! Not you. Understandable mistake. The _other_ Dr. Chase." With this notion, House pulls out his phone to text.

 _12:45pm_

 _To: Row Your Boat_

 _Get in my office now_

Sure enough, Rowan Chase is in the differential office within ten minutes. House hands him a coffee, relays him on the case and demands a suggestion.

"Boy gets anthrax, but happens to be allergic to two antibiotics. Hate to step on anybody's toes, but is it possible that your guys got this one wrong?"

Chase glowers at his father. "The rash is classic anthrax."

"Except the color." House is watching this like a tennis match.

Cameron shakes her head. "The rash hasn't turned black yet. No necrosis, no anthrax."

Chase smirks. "Necrosis can theoretically take as long as two weeks."

Finally, House waves his hands in the air. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Guys, it's not a competition! It's a diagnosis!" He raises a hand over Chase's head. "Okay, who thinks Junior wins?" Everyone's quiet. "Four to one, it's not anthrax. So we start over, what's changed? What do the nodules tell us?"

"Sarcoidosis." Rowan tells the teenagers.

"Excellent. Send an ACE level. If it comes back positive, put him on methotrexate."

At 1:30 in Gabe's room, Foreman is talking to Jeffrey.

"We ran some tests, and the results point toward sarcoidosis. It makes the body's tissue swell up. It seems to have gone after Gabriel's skin and lungs, and given him this fever."

Doctor? Sarah gets their attention for Gabe, who has written to them on a white board the question, "Why?"

"We don't know what causes it."

"But you're sure he has this one."

 _Well, my father sure seems to think so._ Chase bites his tongue. "We have a world-renowned doctor consulting. He's convinced this is sarcoidosis."

"Is it treatable?" Sarah asks.

"Very, actually. See, this is IV methotrexate. It's an anti-inflammatory, which should make all the swelling go down, and get you all better."

"Stop!" Chase notices something on Gabe's arm – the rash has turned black.

"My God, it's black."

"Necrosis."

At two o'clock, House's office is invaded by Rowan and the ducklings. House is sitting behind his desk. Rowan takes the lounge chair. The younger Chase paces. Cameron sits on the edge of House's desk. Foreman rests on the headrest of the chair.

Foreman is in a funk. "It's definitely anthrax, and it definitely can't be anthrax. It doesn't cause throat nodules."

"The only explanation is this kid has got anthrax and sarcoidosis!" Rowan shouts.

Chase rolls his eyes. "Right, two incredibly rare diseases just happening to strike at once."

"Unless you've got a better theory."

"Anthrax plus an allergic reaction."

"Call the Lancet, because that's one bizarre allergic reaction."

House scoffs in a condenscending manner. "Come on, there's no reason you both can't be wrong. It's not allergy, but it's not coincidence, either. Disease number one set off disease number two."

Cameron gasps. "Anthrax weakened his immune system."

"And triggered a dormant sarcoidosis. Keep him on antibiotics for the anthrax and start him on methotrexate for the sarcoidosis."

"Fine." Chase hisses, screeching the chair against the floor as he storms off.

House winces, nodding to Foreman. "Better go with him. Make sure he doesn't snap and hurt somebody."

In twenty minutes, Foreman and Chase are with Gabe and his parents.

"You – you're treating him for both diseases?"

"We're covering all the bases." Foreman responds.

"What, throw everything against the wall and see what sticks?"

Chase shrugs. "Works for spaghetti."

Foreman clears his throat in apology.

House playing on his Game Boy in his office when Jeffrey knocks on the door. House gestures to him to wait. He finally gets up, walks to the door, and locks it. Jeffrey comes and walks in through the Diagnostic office door, which House can't get to in time.

"You're being funny?"

House moves away. "Apparently not."

"You know why I give money to this hospital? It's the only way to get attention. You see this?" He holds up his wrist.

House looks up with feign interest. "Is this a magic trick? Because I am a total David Copperfield fan, although that "Tornado of Fire," that seemed a little fake –"

"Pain in the wrist. Won't go away for months." House idly listens as he pops a Vicodin. "Six doctors' brilliant conclusion is to take it easy. I write a check, name goes on a plaque, and forty-eight hours later I've got two MRIs, a bone scan, and a diagnosis: carpal tunnel. I'm in surgery that afternoon."

"Fascinating story. You thought of adapting it for the stage?" His beeper beeps, so he goes to get it in his office.

Jeffrey continues. "I love my – look at me! – love my son, love him more than anything else in the world, and you're going to start paying attention to this case, or I'm going to make things miserable for –"

House's eyes narrow and his voice turns serious. "Go back to your son's room."

"I'm not leaving here until you get your ass in gear –"

"There's a problem."

Jeffrey walks out, and runs for Gabe's room. He demands to know what's wrong, but Foreman is the doctor inside and he doesn't know. Gabe is leaning forward and his back is covered in a bizarre rash. House paces in his office as Cameron and Foreman enter.

"Skin lesions are spreading all over his body. They're opening and the fatty tissues are oozing out. He'll be septic in a matter of days."

Cameron sighs heavily as Rowan enters from the diagnostics lounge. "Death by dermatitis."

"Where's Robert?"

"Uh, he has clinic duty this morning." Cameron scratches the back of her neck.

House looks up. "No, he doesn't. I rescheduled you guys so you'd be free."

"Yeah, but he re-rescheduled himself."

This angers House. Normally, he might be a bit irritated, but there is a dyinf seven-year-old and he wants all his fellows working on the case. In the clinic, an older gentleman has his hands together in a praying position, and he's bringing them down in front of him.

"It doesn't hurt yet."

"Keep going." Chase assures him as House enters.

"You page me?"

"No, I don't need you."

"Oh, come on. We all need help now and again." To illustrate the effect, Cameron, Foreman and Rowan also enter. "You're getting a consult. Okay, we've got new skin lesions, bigger and uglier. What would cause that?"

"My hand hurts." Chase's patient whines.

Rowan ignores him. "What if his body worked so hard attacking the anthrax that it started attacking itself?"

Cameron answers. "Auto-immune."

Chase shakes his head, ignoring the patient attempting to gain his attention. "Wouldn't present this aggressively."

Cameron doesn't think so. "It's not likely, but it is possible."

"What, in a seven-year-old male?"

"This isn't about me, is it?" The older man asks.

"Gabe's dad found leishmaniasis and filariasis on the internet yesterday. They didn't fit then, but now they kind of do." Chase ignores him again.

House scoffs. "Sure, except for the nodules and we're not working out of Calcutta General."

"Multiple neurofibromatosis."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You think this is neurological?"

"The only reason you're thinking auto-immune is because you're a rheumatologist! If you were a proctologist you'd think rectal cancer."

House shakes his ehad. "Gotta go with Senior. He literally wrote the book on this one."

"Auto-immune is a big universe. It could be anything from scleroderma to Churg-Strauss." Cameron points out.

Foreman frowns. "Whatever it is, we should start him on steroids, keep the swelling down."

Cameron adds, "And 100 mg. of cytoxan, it treats most auto-immunes."

House nods. "We'll give it to him now, before the fat starts dripping out his eyeballs."

Chase's patient calls out to the crowd of doctors. "Hey! My fingers are numb!"

House rolls his eyes as they file out. "Your watch is on too tight."

The older man removes his watch and realizes House was right. As he packs up his things, Chase and House exit the clinic.

"You're messing with my head." Chase accuses.

"Your relationship with your dad is messing with your ability to do your job."

"Only because you made my dad part of my job."

"Good point. Haven't seen him in years, he flies across the Atlantic to see you –"

"Pacific." Chase corrects.

"You breeze by him like he's a Hare Krishna at the airport. You don't even ask why he's in town."

Chase begins to ascend the stairs. "It's probably a conference."

"Probably. I was hoping to do this by sheer manipulation, but if you insist on talking, fine, talk." He walks over to the foot of the stairs. "What did he do to you?" _There's no way he's done anything too fucking horrible to you. Pretty rich boy._

"How would you feel if I interfered in your personal life?"

"I'd hate it. That's why I cleverly have no personal life." _Aside from Wilson. But I wouldn't really call that a private life._

"I'm going to biopsy his skin lesions."

"Good thinking! Prove your dad wrong. That'll solve everything."

Chase is later in the lab, getting test results. He nods and shakes his head over them. In Gabe's room, the seven-year-old is lying there, minus the breathing tube. Chase is alarmed, walking in to find his father sitting with the parents.

"Who extubated him?"

"I did." Rowan admits. "Temperature's down two degrees and the swelling's almost gone."

Sarah smiles. "And his skin looks better, too."

"The cytoxan is working."

Chase disregards him, turning his attention to the kid in bed. "Feeling better, Gabe?"

"Yup, a lot." Gabe grins.

"Dr. Chase, can you and I have a word?"

Chase resigns, joining Rowan by walking down a hallway.

Chase breaks into conversation by shifting blame. "Your diagnosis is wrong. No auto-immune disease. The swelling's probably just down because we've got him on steroids. It's masking whatever's wrong."

"ANAs are unreliable."

"Phospholipid antibodies are negative, so no lupus. Same for Churg-Strauss."

"You're arguing with a rheumatologist. There's about twenty distinct auto-immune diseases –"

Chase cuts him off, unable to have an actual conversation with the man who abandoned his family. "Why are you here?"

"SLE conference."

"You were in New York last year for the scleroderma conference, I didn't hear anything from you."

"Just wanted to say hi this time."

Chase glowers. "You said it, you're still here."

"I miss you."

"I was seven years old when you walked out. Now you're walking back in?" Chase is getting angry, stopping in the middle of the hall.

"I left your mother. I didn't leave you."

Chase is near tears. "Mum was living on gin and tonics, how was I supposed to take care of her?"

"She wasn't your responsibility."

"I know! She was yours."

"I'm sorry she died. I'm sorry you had to deal with that. But she was falling apart long before –"

Chase shakes his head, not willing to deal with this any longer. "I've got to talk to House about this treatment."

A little later, Chase shoves the test results in House's face. The older teen looks over the results and looks back up at Chase for an explanation.

"But the patient's getting better."

"In spite of the cytoxan."

"On the other hand, getting better."

Chase ridicules this. "Cytoxan makes him more susceptible to infection. The anthrax could relapse and be more resistant."

"Better!"

"You want a negative test for every auto-immune disease known to man? Fine, I'll get them!"

"Be home by midnight or he can't have the car this weekend." Chase stops by the door, and House presses. "You guys talk? Did he tell you why he's here?"

Chase sneers. "The SLE conference."

Chase storms out, and House turns to his computer to look up the conference. Close to five-thirty, Rowan is in the main lobby. House has just taken the elevator and meets the older Dr. Chase by the main doors.

"Going back to the conference?" House questions innocently.

Rowan chuckles. "Afternoon panel. I hope I can stay awake."

House narrows his eyes. "I hope you can get in. You're not registered. I get it. You had to make up a lie. Can't just tell your kid you're here to see him. What father does that? That little blue dot under your collar." He notices Rowan moving to cover it up, but House just keeps going – nowhere near sympathetic. "It's a tattoo for guiding radiation treatment. I was looking for it after I saw what you had for breakfast: brown rice and vegetables, macrobiotic diet. Popular with Hollywood starlets and cancer patients."

Rowan's eyes drop to the floor. "Lungs, stage four."

"You look good."

"I'm not." Rowan admits. "Came to the States to go to Sloan-Kettering, and to see Dr. Wilson."

 _Damn it. Wilson. He knew._ "What'd he say?"

"Three months."

"But you haven't told Robert." He winces, calling him by the first name. "You don't want to burden him because you were such a lousy dad."

Rowan finally meets House's gaze. "I'd prefer you not tell him."

House snorts. "Yeah, it's better. I'll get to see his face when he reads his dad's obituary."

"It's not your business."

"I suppose it isn't."

Half an hour later, Chase is taking blood from Gabe.

"You sure do a lot of tests."

"If we figure out exactly which auto-immune condition it is, we can get you better quicker."

"Was that your dad before?"

Chase's jaw tenses. "Yeah."

Gabe's face brightens. "That's so cool. Do you guys work together a lot?"

"Not really."

"When can I go home?"

"We'll see. Looks like you got your appetite back. That's a good sign." Gabe coughs, and Chase gestures to the sink. "Want some water?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He gives Gabe the water, which drops out of Gabe's hand. Chase doesn't mind. "Whoops. It's all right. Water's cheap."

Gabe simply stares at his hand. "Oh, God."

Chase looks back in slight panic. "What?"

Gabe looks like he's about to have a panic attack on his own. "I can't, I can't move my hand."

By noon, Gabe looking much worse. Chase tries urging Gabe to squeeze his fingers, but the boy can't. Chase moves on to test the movement in his arm. With nothing better occurring, Chase heads back to the diagnostics room. House, Cameron, Foreman and Rowan are already there.

"He's getting worse. Now his entire right hand and forearm are paralyzed."

Cameron takes his file. "And his fever's back, it's back over 105."

Foreman takes the file from her. "If we don't stop the nerve deterioration quickly, he'll be paralyzed for life."

House exhales sowly. "Well, luckily, at this rate, that should only last about a week. Okay, so –"

Chase frowns. "I told you we should get him off the cytoxan. This is toxic neuropathy. We've been shoving drugs into his system for a disease he doesn't have!"

"You know, it _could_ be neurological." Foreman suggests.

Cameron is skeptical. "What kind of brain process would cause a paralyzed hand, skin lesions, and swollen throat nodules?"

Rowan agrees with Foreman. "Robert was right. You said multiple neurofibromatosis."

House narrows his eyes. "Are you saying that for the chance of a beautiful family moment, or is there some medicine involved?"

"Fits better."

"Too bad. I was hoping for the other reason. I was gonna go get my camera." He nods to the team. "Get a CT scan. His brain this time."

Downstairs, Wilson is talking to some blonde accountant. House marches directly up to them, more accurately behind his best friend, purposely ignoring the girl.

"You think three copies will be enough, right?"

"One's always been more than enough for me."

House taps him on the shoulder with his cane. "Why didn't you tell me that Rowan Chase was in to see you?"

Wilson excuses himself from the blond before turning to face House. "Ethics, confidentiality? Does any of this ring a bell?"

House groans. "You could have covered yourself. Called me in for a consult."

Wilson indulges him for a moment. "It is a juicy piece of gossip. You know what happened? I got all focused on his cancer and lost perspective."

"You can't tell Chase, but I can. What should I do?" _We both know I don't always follow your advice, but you… You've got something. I need to hear what you'd do._

Wilson's eyes light up sarcastically. "Oh! This is where I give you advice and pretend you're going to listen to it. I like this part. Did Rowan ask you not to tell?"

"I promised I wouldn't. My fingers were crossed, though, so I'm wide open."

"I was wrong! This is the musing-out-loud part! Do I actually need to be here?"

 _I should tell him. If my father got cancer, I wouldn't be at his bedside, but I might not get him all worked up next time I saw him._ "Telling him, now that's got real entertainment value."

"Hmmm, he might even cry. On the other hand, there is the "do unto others" thingy."

 _I'd want Chase to tell me about my father. And I fucking hate my father._ "Then I should definitely tell him! I'd want to know."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "You want to know everything. There's also the "keeping your promises" thingy."

"Oh, you never run out of thingies." _Okay, time to change the subject._ "Like that blonde thing you were chatting up."

"She's the hospital accountant! We were going over billing procedures!" He defends himself.

"Double-entry bookkeeping?"

The elevator dings, and the two walk in after everyone else clears out.

"What are you going to do?"

"Billing procedures. They're so complicated, aren't they?"

Wilson rolls his eyes as the doors close. Meanwhile, Gabe is going into the CT machine.

Cameron looks over at Chase. "You know, parents are never as bad as kids think they are."

"You like my dad so much, ask him out."

She grins slightly. "I'd make an excellent step-mom, I'm very lenient. He's your father, you never see him, and he's here. Unless he's done some unspeakable thing, you should lighten up."

"Right, thanks for the tip."

"Okay. He beat your mom. He beat you. With no answer, she sighs. "What did he do?"

"Really, don't push it."

"All this hate. It's toxic."

"Then stay away." He takes a careful look at the scan. "There's nothing there."

Later, the team is looking at the CT.

"No masses, no fibrous tangles, nothing. It's not neurofibromatosis."

"Drs. Chase are 0 – 3. Even when they agree they're wrong. So, next. What else could cause neural damage as well as all the nodules?"

Cameron raies her hand. "Burger's disease."

"He's never been out of the country."

Rowan glances up. "Have his parents? They could have brought it back."

"I don't think so."

Chase sighs. "Doesn't matter. His lesions are in the wrong place, his feet are the one clear spot."

"Kid's dad mentioned leishmaniasis."

Chase stares at House. "Yeah, and filariasis, but the throat nodules still don't fit with that."

"Two diseases pretty much exclusive to Southeast Asia. What if the anthrax didn't set off the second disease?"

Foreman resits the urge to slap someone. "We're back at coincidence again?"

"No. What if something else was the trigger?"

Cameron's face is blank. "Nothing else happened."

"We happened."

Rowan squints his eyes. "Antibiotics?"

Chase is adamant. "We've been through this, it's not an allergy."

"I've gotta pee."

House suddenly jumps up and leaves the room. He enters Gabe's room with an angry attitude in his footing. Jeffrey steps up to meet him in front of Gabe's bed.

"What did the CT scan tell you?"

"Nothing." He grabs Jeffrey's bad wrist.

"Ow!" The man older by three years screams out in pain.

House doesn't give in. His grip is strong. "On a scale of one to ten, how painful?"

"About half as painful as when I punch you in the face."

"Don't do that. It'll hurt you. Carpal tunnel surgery obviously didn't work."

Gabe has woken up, starlted by the teenager gripping his dad's wrist. "Who are you?"

"The little ones call me Uncle Greg. Your dad never had carpal tunnel." He turns back to Jeffrey, never once letting go. "You mentioned two obscure diseases to Dr. Chase. How'd you know about them?"

"I read about them on the internet."

House lets go of his grip and Sarah walks into the room. House ignores her. "So, what'd you search for? "Diseases from Asia that don't match my son's symptoms"? You heard about them in Asia."

"I've never been there."

"Well, you probably just forgot. Let me refresh your memory. Some remote, dusty village, close quarters, at least a year… starting to come back?"

"I'm calling Dr. Cuddy."

Sarah interjects. "Excuse me, what does this have to do with our son?"

House looks to Gabe. "Your dad's pissed off. He should be. Comes here, expecting us to do an extra good job because he gives a whole lot of money to this hospital –"

Jeffrey yells at House. "Don't talk to my son like that!"

"Just telling him my job, my obligation to this –"

"Stop!" Sarah steps up to them. "What's going on?"

"There's only one thing that you guys have got to do. Tell the truth, or your son will die. How long were you in Asia?"

Sarah calms down. "Jeff, it's a simple question."

Jeffrey can't lie to her anymore. "Two years, in India."

"Why would you lie about something like that?"

He sighs heavily. "It was '87 and '88. This, uh, this guru, I thought he had some answers. I went to his ashram, and, um, ended up with no money and no answers. I was embarrassed, I didn't want anybody to know."

Gabe stirs, wanting to cry at the new information. "No. No, you were a test pilot."

"I'm so sorry, Gabe."

"What does this have to do with my son?" Sarah asks but House has already left.

Close to three o'clock in House's office, everyone is gathered yet again.

"Clue number one: If I were Jesus, curing this kid would be as easy as turning water into wine."

Foreman is resting on the headrest of the chair. "Demonic possession?"

"Close, but no wafer. Clue number two: Rheumatology Rowan was almost right. It causes auto-immune symptoms."

Chase has his arms folded, leaning against the wall. "Leprosy?"

Foreman scoffs. "Yeah, that's real big in the Jersey suburbs."

House nods. "It's leprosy. Run a FITE stain, it'll be positive. Daddy hung out on the wrong kind of Indian ashram."

Foreman's eyes widen. "But it's obviously dormant in the dad, how could the kid catch it?"

"It's not dormant in the dad, it's just slow. Damaged his ulnar nerve, was misdiagnosed as carpal tunnel. Never trust doctors. Run a FITE stain."

Rowan leans back in the chair. "No wonder he got anthrax. The leprosy weakened his immune system."

"Vicious circle. The leprosy made him vulnerable to the anthrax, and the anthrax treatment put the leprosy in overdrive."

Chase leans off the wall. "But the antibiotics we gave him, they cure leprosy."

"Yeah, that's where the trouble starts. The antibiotics hit the nerve strands, they kill the leprosy bacteria. The corpses get tossed into the system. And as fascinating as our bodies are, they're also stupid. They produce antibodies to beat dead bacteria. And these aren't the polite antibodies, they're the ones that won't sit still; kick during naptimes. They attack his neural and fat cells, cause some inflammation and all the rest of his symptoms."

Rowan's eyes enlarge. "So the cure's killing him!"

House looks over at Cameron. "I want you to call down to Carville, Louisiana, home of the last leper colony in the lower forty-eight. Get them to send up some thalidomide."

"Thalidomide?"

"Seven-year-olds don't have sex, right? So he can't be pregnant. Make the call. As she leaves, he eyes Foreman and then turns to Rowan. "I need to speak to your boy."

Chase is soon alone in the office with House. The younger teenager starts pacing.

"Why does _everybody_ need to know my business?"

"People like talking about people." House admits. "Makes us feel superior. Makes us feel in control. And sometimes, for some people, knowing some things makes them care." He takes some Vicodin.

"I'd tell you my dad left, my mum drank herself to death… you gonna care about me more?"

"Cameron would. Me, I just like knowing stuff. Look, I know you hate your dad, but I'm gonna tell you something –"

"I don't hate him." Chase disrupts. "I loved him until I figured out that it hurts a lot less to just not care. You don't expect him to turn up to your football match? No disappointments. You don't expect a call on your birthday, don't expect to see him for months? No disappointments. You want us to go make up? Sink a few beers together, nice family hug? I've given him enough hugs. He's given me enough disappointments."

"Okay."

"That's it?" Chase asks, slightly winded.

"That's it."

Chase leaves. An hour later, Jeffrey is in a hospital bed, hooked up to IV meds. Chase is busy checking Gabe out.

"Breathe." Gabe does. "Breathe again. Breathe again."

"You gonna have to tell my friends I'm a leper?" He asks when Chase puts away the stethoscope.

"You had the antibiotics. You're not contagious any more."

"What if they already caught it?"

"Leprosy is incredibly hard to catch. Even your mum didn't get it. All right, I want you to make a fist."

Gabe does so, slowly. "It's still kinda stiff."

"It'll get back to normal in a month or two. Your skin, two or three weeks. You haven't asked about your dad."

Gabe's eyes are downcast. "He lied about everything. He lied to my mom. He lied to his boss. He's just a liar."

"He loves you."

Gabe is near tears as his voice breaks. "I don't love him."

"Yeah, you do." Chase sits on the bed next to Gabe. "Nothing you can do about it. He's your dad. It doesn't matter what he does, you're gonna love him."

Later, at night, Rowan is leaving a hotel. The man thanks the bellhop for bringing his things to the cab. Chase walks up.

"Hey! When's your flight? You got time for a drink?"

Rowan smiles lightly. "Wish I did."

"Dr. Chase!" The cabbie calls.

Rowan starts to lug his heavy suitcase, but Chase grabs it.

"I've got it."

"You're going to be getting down to Aus any time soon?"

"Not too long. Next autumn, I hope. I'll call you. Well, you're all set.

Rowan offers his hand, which Chase takes. "I'll see you." _I love you._

Rowan smiles genuinely. "Yeah. I'll see you." _I love you, too._

Chase embraces his father, and they read the genuine expressions in each other's faces. Chase then watches as Rowan drives off in the taxi.

 **Aw, Chase and Chase. It's very sad. Our Chase thinks everything is made up and he'll see his daddy more. But older Chase basically came here to say bye-bye. The heartbreak.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi, viewers. Here is 1.14 – Control. I'm supposed to be working on my essay right now. I actually am. I have another widow opened. There's just a lot going on in the essay, so I wanted to do something else while I'm listening to _Forget You_ on the radio. I figure I can type some for each thing during each song/commercial break. Sound good? Alright, on with this. By the way, it's no longer February. It's March, approximately the tenth.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

Carly, a thirty-something woman is lying in a bed at PPTH. On the other side of the hospital, House walks into the Diagnostic offices.

"Twenty-one-year-old female, paralysis and severe pain in her right quad. Go."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "How'd she get to you?"

"She's the CEO of Sonyo Cosmetics. Three assistants and fifteen VPs checked out who should be treating her. Who da man? I da man. I always suspected."

Cameron frowns. "Dr. House, I know the chances are very slim, but I'm sure you recognize that she may have what you had: a clot in her thigh."

Chase coughs. "A bit of a long shot."

Foreman decides to work on it. "What about a disc herniation?"

Cameron turns to him. "I don't know, Eric. If her disc were herniated, she'd present with pain elsewhere, wouldn't she?"

At this point, Foreman is looking at Cameron like she's an alien, Chase is looking at her like she's something on the bottom of his shoe, and House is looking at the whole thing with mild interest.

"Yeah, I suppose." Foreman, breaks off.

"You're right, a clot's also the most deadly, right, Robert?"

Chase flinches. "True. The clot breaks off, she could stroke and die."

He looks at House questioningly. House simply purses his lips.

"Dr. House, I believe that they're right, and –"

"Stop talking."

"What?"

"You read one of those negotiating books, didn't you? _"Getting to Yes: Fifty Ways to Win an Argument." "The Hitchhiker's Guide to Being a Pal."_ In five seconds you just manipulated these two into agreeing with your point of view." While Chase and Foreman look defensive, House barrels through. "Fellas, this is known as "soft positional bargaining."" He turns to Cameron. "It's not gonna work."

"Dr. House, are you saying that she doesn't have a clot or are you saying that if she does have a clot she doesn't need blood thinners and an angiogram?"

House decides to humor her. "Chase, put her on blood thinners, do an angiogram." Cameron looks triumphant, and House continues. "When that comes back negative, MRI the spine. If that's clean, cut her open and biopsy the leg."

Cameron's grins falters only somewhat. "Excellent suggestion."

"Read less, more TV."

In a conference room in the hospital, Cuddy is addressing the board of directors (including Wilson, as he is the head of his department).

"It's rare for an individual to make a donation significant enough to impact an organization as large and unwieldy as a hospital. This donation does come with one string: that he be made Chairman of the Board. I think that's a reasonable request. I think he should have the right to know what it is we do with his $100 million. Please welcome our new Chairman of the Board, Edward Vogler."

All the board members clap as Vogler takes the stage.

"Thank you, thank you. When I was eighteen, my dad loaned me $20,000 for a college tuition which he would have known was a mistake had he known that I wasn't actually in college." The board members politely chuckle. "I took his money and invested in a friend who had a little business, and when my dad found out what I had done with his money, he and I didn't talk much after that. But my friend's business took off, and I used the profits from that to buy another company, and another, and I must have been pretty good at it, had a good eye, because before I knew it people were making offers for my company. And, uh, about a year ago I went public and overnight I was worth a billion dollars. So I went to see my dad."

The board members politely chuckle again, and Cuddy looks to Wilson. He only sort of smiles, really not wanting to be here. "I'll admit, I wanted a little payback, you know, kind of shove the wind in his face, so I went upstate and sat in the kitchen I grew up in and, uh, he had no reaction. It wasn't his fault, he didn't even know who I was. Because his Alzheimer's had taken a turn for the worse, despite the best drugs and care out there, and that is why I'm here. What if my contribution to this hospital is the difference between no cure and a cure for cancer? The difference between a man not recognizing his wife of thirty-five years and being able to look at her and say, "Good morning, honey. I love you.""

Wilson now looks pensive and a little sad. Vogler continues. "If there's a disease out there killing people, I am writing you a blank check to fight back." He smiles widely. "So, things are going to change, a lot."

The board claps. Wilson is the last one to start clapping, and it's very subdued. Later, in the x-ray room, Carly is on the table and still punching messages into her Blackberry.

Chase holds out his hand. "I'm gonna have to ask you for the cell phone."

"Do what you need to do, I'm okay."

"Pretty sure my x-ray machine can take your phone in a fight. It'll fry it."

Carly grumbles, handing it over. "Fine."

Jenny, the eighteen-year-old radiologist, turns to Chase. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-one."

Jenny is impressed. "Wow. She's already the CEO of a public company."

"She's a workaholic. Okay Carly, hold still. The x-ray machine is gonna pass over your leg."

"Okay."

"What'd you do with your time off?" Jenny questions the fifteen-year-old.

"Snowboarding in Gstaad."

"Switzerland!"

"Do you ski or board? You can come with, if you like."

"Maybe we should start with a drink before we go 'round the world." Jenny winks.

"Oh, you want to have a drink with me?" She hits him and he laughs. "Oooh, very aggressive! I like that."

The x-ray commences. Downstairs, Vogler and Cuddy walking in the hallways.

"I want to run this place like a business."

"What, you want to put more vending machines in the hallway? Maybe a roulette wheel?"

Vogler doesn't smile. "Nice one. But I'm serious. The product that you're selling is good health, it shouldn't be a tough sell. You don't want to sell, it means people don't care about your product. You care if people are healthy, or are you too proud for that?"

Cuddy stops in her tracks and looks insulted. Vogler pays her no mind and peers into an office. "Who's that?" He looks almost disgusted to see Dr. House playing with a yo-yo.

"That's, uh, just one of our doctors." She blushes lightly.

"Aren't doctors supposed to wear lab coats?" House lifts his head slightly to eavesdrop.

"He's… different."

"Everyone's buddy." Vogler deadpans.

 _Ha! As if!_ "No, not exactly."

"Then why does he get away with it?"

"It's just a coat. He's very good."

"Hmm." He responds, walking off.

Half an hour later, House is in the clinic, giving a strep test to a young boy.

"Say "ah"."

"Ah."

"No, really belt it out, like you're gonna throw up."

"Ahhhhh!"

The six-year-old named Ricky coughs in House's face.

House blinks, standing up. "Perfect. Okay, that's it. We should know in a couple of days what's growing in your son's throat." The dad doesn't say anything in response. "Hello?"

"He can't talk."

"Excuse me?"

"He had knee surgery."

"Right…"

"About a year ago, and then he couldn't talk."

"Right, yeah, well, that happens. You know, it's very dangerous operating so close to the vocal chords. Okay, well, we'll send your kid's culture to the lab and somebody will call you." As he's leaving, he turns and shouts, "BOO!"

"Aahhh!" Ricky screams, falling on his butt. The dad looks frightened, but doesn't say anything.

House feels a bit embarrassed. "Just wanted to see if your dad, uh, sorry." He leaves.

A while later, Cuddy and House are getting out of the elevator.

"I need you to wear your lab coat."

House stares at her. "I need two days of outrageous sex with someone obscenely younger than you. Like Chase's age."

"Wear the coat."

"Man oh man. Someone got spanked real good this morning."

"Guy gives $100 million to cure cancer, pretty small concession to wear a lab coat."

"Cure cancer." House repeats. "Is the hospital getting out of the dull business of treating patients?"

"You know that's not what he's doing."

"I know exactly what he's doing. He's using us to run clinical trials."

"Oh, shame on him! Saving lives like that!"

House enters his office, rolling his eyes as Cuddy follows. "It's unethical. Oh, are you coming in, too? I thought I had you convinced."

"Clinical trials save thousands of lives."

"He's using patients as guinea pigs."

"Pharmaceutical companies do that every day."

"Are we a pharmaceutical company? We're gonna wind up pressuring desperate patients into choices that are bad for them, good for us. You're gonna compromise patient care."

"Who the hell am I talking to? Suddenly ethical lapses are a major concern for you?"

House relaxes behind his desk. "What's interesting is it suddenly doesn't bother you."

"So, if you ignore ethics to save one person it's admirable, but if you do it to save a thousand you're a bastard. All he's done is taken your game and gone pro."

House narrows his eyes. "He's not going to kill a few patients. He's going to kill this hospital."

"It took him three seconds to size you up, and surprise? He doesn't like you. Wear the damn coat."

Meanwhile, Foreman had enters Carly's room. Carly had been curled up on her side.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Foreman, I work with Dr. House. Our initial tests say you're fine. We think you may have had a clot but it resolved on its own, so we're gonna keep you overnight to be safe and you can go back home tomorrow. Or, back to work. Hey, you okay."

Carly whimpers in pain, clutching her leg. Foreman runs to the other side of the bed. Then she _screams_ in pain. A nurse nervously walks in and Foreman shouts to her. "Get in here! I need a line in her, IV morphine, stat!"

House enters the Diagnostic offices as the fellows flow to the table. Chase asks the room a question as a whole.

"Get any read on the new Chairman of the Board?"

Foreman nods. "Yeah, he took your parking space."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "It's not necessarily bad news."

Foreman looksa t her. "Do you ever watch "Gilligan's Island" reruns and really, really think they're gonna get off the island this time?"

"We should introduce ourselves. It couldn't hurt."

House gets coffee. "Make him a bundt cake. Patient hit a ten on the pain scale. What would explain that?"

Chase turns back to professional mode. "There was no clot in her leg, the angio was totally clean."

"What about the muscle biopsy?"

"No neurogenic or myopathic abnormalities."

"She's also negative for trichinosis, no toxoplasmosis or polyarteritis nodosa." Foreman adds.

"Robert, what was her sedimentation rate?"

"Normal, Allison, therefore no inflammation, no immunologic response."

"Do you mind sharing that number with me?"

Foreman and Chase try to stop from smiling. "Fifteen, Allison."

"Are you mocking me?"

Foreman snorts. "Duh, Allison."

"I'm just suggesting we look outside the box. What if her sed rate is elevated?"

"Well, let's go further outside the box. Let's say the angio revealed a clot, and let's say we treated that clot, and now she's all better, and personally thanked me by performing –"

Cameron tilts her head, interrupting Chase. "My Aunt Elisa lives in Philiadelphia."

House squees sarcastically. "Oh, it's storytime! Let me get my baba."

"Her normal temperature is 96.2, not 98.6 like you and me. If her temperature were 98.6, she'd have a fever. I'm just wondering if you think we could apply the same logic to Carly's sed rate."

 _Huh. Like the pain scale. My 7 would be like Wilson's 12. Cool._ "That's absurd. I love it."

"If fifteen is high for Carly, then she has inflammation."

"Which could, in turn, mean cancer. I'll talk to Wilson. Next time, skip Aunt Elisa."

House meets Wilson in the hallway.

"You're probably talking about a primary bone cancer." Wilson acknowledges. "Can be tricky to detect, you'll need a bone scan –"

"That's why I'm talking to an oncologist."

"Sure, I've nothing better to do besides departmental meetings and budget reports… new Chairman of the Board, you know."

"Oh! I hadn't heard." _Why are you forsaking me, Wilson?_

"Right. Clinical trials…"

"Completely unethical."

"And a very bad omen for you. There's not much money in curing African sleeping sickness."

"No, I have seen every scary movie ever made. Six-year-old twins in front of an elevator of blood, boys' choirs: those are bad omens." _Why can't he just sleep with Cuddy and be done with it?_ "This is much more mundane: a billionaire wants to get laid."

"Billionaires buy movie studios to get laid. They buy hospitals to get respect."

House smirks. "And the reason you want respect?"

"To… get laid."

"Okay then. You've just gotta think like a billionaire." Wilson genuinely smiles for the first time all day. "Let's see, big scary changes, and then, "Oh, Dr. Cameron, we should have dinner to discuss your future on my G-5 private jet.""

"Oh, come on. You know how good you have it here."

House grins. "Yes, I'm the big poobah, the big cheese, the go-to guy."

"You do the cases you want to do, when you want to do them. You're not going to get that anywhere else."

"Relax, I've been through three regime changes in this hospital. Every time, same story."

"Just keep your head down, that's all I'm saying. And put on your coat."

"It itches, Jimmy!"

Wilson sighs and walks away. House calls after him. "So, are you going to do this bone scan for me or what?"

"Yes." Wilson calls over his shoulder.

House throws a Vicodin up in the air and catches it in his mouth. Close to an hour later, House is falling asleep in a certain office, with his yo-yo still in his hand. When the door to said office closes, House snaps to attention.

"Dr. Simpson! Did you hear? New management. I'm thinking about switching to orthopedics. How much do you guys get for massage now, without the happy ending?"

Simpson pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dr. House, what do you want?"

"You remember a guy named Van Der Meer? Not a big talker. You fixed his ACL."

"Well, not according to my medical malpractice premiums."

"Didn't get hypertensive during surgery? No strokes? Maybe some connectivity loss?"

"What, you're going to get involved now?"

"I'm not involved. Guy brought his son into the clinic."

"I didn't touch the son. I'm not taking any responsibility there."

House rolls his eyes. "The son's fine. Can't shut him up. The dad show any signs of cortical disease? Wernicke's?"

"No. Nothing. And that's why we settled; because we couldn't find anything. The guy got over a million dollars, don't tell me he's complaining."

"He's not saying "boo"."

As House explains the condition of the clinic patient to Dr. Simpson, Carly and her secretary Robin are conducting business in her hospital room.

"Your father wants to know when you'll be back from your trip."

"Email back. "It's taking longer than I thought." He doesn't need to see me like this."

"What about your brother?"

"No." Carly refuses as Wilson enters.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Wilson. I was –"

"Robin, I'm going to need a minute."

Robin unquestioningly collects all of the papers off of Carly's bed and hurries out. Carly thanks her as she leaves. Wilson shuts the door and Carly starts talking.

"There are two Dr. Wilsons in the hospital. One in ophthalmology and one in cancer." Wilson sits and she keeps going. "My eyes are fine, so you're here to tell me I have cancer."

"There's no cancer in your bone."

"You're not smiling."

"There's something called referred pain. You could have cancer in one part of your body that presents in another. Given your age and your family history, I'm thinking your colon."

"I was at Columbia when my mom died. Now there's a blast. Cleaning up her vomit and running to my econ final. Look, if I'm a short-timer give me drugs, I'll go back to work. I'll die there."

"Whoa. There's a quick test to see if you even have it, a colonoscopy."

She shakes her head. "I know how you do that test."

"If you have colon cancer, we can treat it, it's early."

"That's what they told my mom. She was dead six months later."

"You're a smart person about to make a very bad decision. You know, cancer treatment's come a long way in twelve years, but if you don't do this now –"

"I don't want to be looked at!"

Wilson bites his lip. "There is another way. We could do a virtual colonoscopy. Basically, we do a CT scan of your colon. It's non-invasive, but it's very expensive. I assume that's not a problem." Carly just looks at him. "Say yes."

Thankfully, she finally relents. In the clinic, House enters a room with Dad Van der Meer.

"Mr. Van Der Meer." He pauses as the dad is typing on his laptop. "What?" Van der Meer types "wHats werong gwith ricky". House rolls his eyes, walking behind the man. He digs in a drawer. "Relax, Ricky's going to be just "finkf". Strep throat, here's a prescription for an antibiotic. He should be all better in a few days. Although, House turns around wielding a needle. "This might sting a little." He approaches the dad, who looks frightened. House looks up to the ceiling, and when the dad looks up, House injects him in the neck. With a bit of an evil smile, House meets Van der Meer's gaze. "I want to see you again real soon."

An hour and a half later, Wilson and House are walking in a hallway.

"Virtual colonoscopy was clean. No colon cancer."

"What happened to a regular old-fashioned colonoscopy?"

"She was uncomfortable doing any more tests! I had to convince her to do that one!"

"Do you get that often? Women would rather die than get naked with you?"

Wilson sighs, wondering what clinic patient has been bothering his friend. "She's scared."

"But not of tests. Just embarrassing ones."

"Yeah."

House takes it into consideration, immediately leaving for his office. Wilson shrugs and heads to his office. House rushes in, looking over at Chase. Chase had been in House's chair, but he immediately jumps up, shifting the imaging on the desk.

"It's not an inflammatory process, it's not a clot because Chase's angio says so, and it's not cancer because her toosh is perfect. Anybody else got an Aunt Elisa with weird stuff?" He looks at the angiogram.

Cameron has an idea. "Maybe it's worth looking into –"

"I thought you said Carly's angio was clean."

"It was clean."

Chase defends as House puts the scans up on his light board.

"You guys see the problem here?"

Foreman gets up to get a closer look. "There's no indication of any abnormalities. No lesions, no spurs, no masses –"

"Her toes are screwed up. They're backwards. Do you guys know how much surgery it's going to take to swap them back?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Either she literally has two left feet or you angio-ed the wrong leg."

Chase gets up to look. "That's impossible. It can't be the wrong –"

House glares. "Or maybe it was Jenny! How come some resident signed this radiology form? Were you even in the damn room?"

"I'll redo her angio straight away –"

"You'll do nothing! Foreman, you do the angiogram."

"I can't believe I did that."

Foreman leaves to perform the new angiogram..

"Why do we have to redo the angiogram?"

Foreman lies easily. "There was a shadow on the first test."

"A shadow? A shadow means there could be a blood clot, right? I read Conn's Current Therapy."

"Real page turner. No, it's not that kind of shadow."

"My chest hurts."

"It's from the tracer I injected. Might also get a little nauseous, or have a metallic taste, all normal."

Carly doesn't think so. "I'm a runner. I shouldn't feel like this."

"Carly, I'm looking at your vitals right now, and –"

"I… can't… breathe." The twenty-one-year-old starts to choke.

"Carly?"

"My chest…" She wheezes.

Foreman grabs his stethoscope and listens to her lungs. The machines begin to beep. A tech who'd been walking by rushes in.

"Respiratory arrest, call the code."

The tech turns to him. "What've you got?"

"She's drowning."

Carly starts to flail. With the tech's help, Foreman begins draining Carly's lungs. Meanwhile, House is looking at the white board in his office. Cameron walks in to talk to him once Carly's lungs are drained of the excess fluids.

"Foreman did a thoracentesis to drain the fluid from her lungs. They sent the fluid to the lab, it'll be back in a few hours. You'll be happy to know that Chase's mistake didn't cost her. Angio revealed no clot."

House barely pays her any mind. "I'm thrilled."

Cameron leaves. House is still staring at the white board. While thinking, he twirls his cane and throws his ball. He ends up erasing the board with Carly's physical symptoms, and starts to write her psych symptoms. The rest of the day passes into night. House doesn't notice and he doesn't sleep. Sometime after midnight, Carly is asleep. House comes over to her bed. He lifts the sheet over her right thigh, revealing a series of scar marks from cutting. Wilson comes in at seven-thirty, briefly acknowledging House asleep at his desk. At nine o'clock, Wilson is reviewing charts outside. House comes up to him and taps his cane on the table.

"Okay, see, now you're just being stubborn. It's cold. It's a perfectly good excuse to wear your lab coat."

"Carly needs a heart transplant."

 _hmm, no sarcasm. Serious._ "Thoracentesis revealed a transudate?"

"Haven't gotten it back yet."

"Her MUGA scan, what was the ejection fracture? Maybe you could treat it, surgically."

"Haven't done the MUGA."

"How do you know she needs a heart transplant?"

"I got my aura read today. It said someone close to me had a broken heart."

Wilson narrows his eyes, feeling a little defensive. "Since when do I need the secret pass code to talk to you?"

"I can't tell you anything. Professional responsibility."

Wilson scoffs. "Like that matters to you."

"Not my professional responsibility, yours. New regime, you gotta keep your head down, too."

"Now, that's good thinking, because I was going to go right to Cuddy and rat you out as soon as you were done talking."

House exhales, dropping the act. "I'm not saying you _want_ to, I'm saying you'd be _obligated_ to."

 _Um, wow. Wasn't expecting that._ "Because of my position on the Board?" House looks at him but says nothing. "Because of my position on the transplant committee?" House still says nothing. "Hey, you brought this up for a reason. You need to talk to me."

"I can't."

 _Damn. He's actually doing it the right way. He's right._ "You sure you're doing the right thing?"

"I've come up with a few really great rationalizations."

Chase and Cameron walk up, disrupting the conversation.

"Sorry to interrupt." Chase pulls him away. "We have a problem."

"Thoracentesis revealed a transudate." Wilson looks amazed as Cameron explains. "We did an echo. She's in severe congestive heart failure. She needs a heart transplant. We'll get her on the list immediately –"

"She's already on the list."

Half an hour later, at Cuddy's office, Vogler knocks on the door.

"Come in."

"Thanks. What is a "Department of Diagnostic Medicine"?"

"That's Dr. House's department. They deal with cases that other doctors can't figure out."

He sits in the chair on the other side of her desk. "It's a financial black hole. Department costs us $3 million a year, treat one patient a week."

"He saves one patient per week."

"What about everyone else? His department's not going to find the cure for breast cancer."

"Uh, maybe not, but –"

"Are you sleeping with House?"

Cuddy is a bit shocked. "What? No."

"But you did, right? A long time ago?"

Cuddy chokes on her saliva. _One time, in tenth grade. What the hell?_ "That's an incredibly inappropriate question."

"If your judgment is compromised by prior or current relationship, that is my business."

"I _respect_ him,and that is all you need to know."

"He's still not wearing a coat."

"Well, I told him –"

"I'm sure you did. And yet, he's not wearing it. I'm just wondering if that's a reflection on him, or on you."

Cuddy gives a grimace-type-smile. Meanwhile, Hosue walks into Carly's room.

"You're Dr. House. I found a picture of you online at a conference –"

He interrupts her. "You need a heart transplant."

Carly is taken aback. "I run, I work out, I –"

"You cut yourself. Probably highly ritualized. You play the same Sarah MacLaughlin song over and over while you do it, probably works better than anti-depressants."

"I don't understand how that has to –"

"You're a high-powered bulimic. You make yourself throw up. You have to find the most efficient way to vomit without revealing the tell-tale signs of bulimia, which is all, eugh. Very unseemly, for a CEO. So, you found a common antidote for accidental poisoning to do the job: ipecac. Which is great, if your kid's just swallowed a bottle of aspirin, but really, really bad if it's a habit. It causes muscle damage. It caused the pain in your leg. And it destroyed your heart. How often do you do it?"

Carly looks dwn at her hands. "Three times a week."

"In about an hour, there's going to be an emergency meeting of the transplant committee to discuss where you fall on the list should a new heart become available. Problem is, I am required to tell the committee of your bulimia, it's a major psychiatric condition. Ranks right up there with suicidal, makes you a very bad risk."

"So you're here to tell me I have just a few hours to live?"

"Unless I lie to the committee. But if they find out, I lose my medical license. This would be a very good time to offer me a bribe. How much is your life worth, how much is my job worth –"

"Why are you here doing this to me? What do you want?"

"I want to know what's right."

"Am I worth it? You think I'm pathetic. Has a good job, everything in the world, but she just doesn't like the way that she looks –"

"Oh, stop hiding!" Carly looks taken aback yet again, only moreso at his yelling. "I'm asking you if you want to live or die, you can't even say that!"

"What do you want me to do? Cry?"

"Yes! I want you to tell me that your life is important to you, because I don't know! Because that's what's on the table right now: your life."

He turns to leave; Carly grabs his arm. She's crying now. "I don't want to die. I don't."

An hour later, House is sitting in front of the transplant committee.

"This twenty-one-year-old female was admitted by my staff because of paralysis and pain in her right thigh. Patient rapidly deteriorated and now has severe congestive heart failure. Pressers and vasodilators have not improved her conditions whatsoever. Pulmonary function tests show an FVC of over 3 liters with EDD-1 of at least 90% of predicted. And preserved FEB/FEC ratio and preserved DLCO as well. Her MUGA had an ejection fraction of 19% with no focal wall or motion abnormalities. Heart catheterization revealed clean left, right and circumflex arteries, and subsequent biopsy revealed irreversible cardiomyopathy. Which is why we're here."

Cuddy is the first to speak. "Uh, Dr. House, I'm confused by your time and date stamps. It appears that you put Carly on the transplant list before you did these tests."

"I had a hunch."

"You don't have hunches. You know."

"Look, if the tests had come back differently, obviously I would have taken her off the lists, but on the long shot…" He pauses as Vogler walks in and takes a seat on the sidelines. "On the long shot I was right, I didn't want to waste time."

"Is there any exclusion criteria we should know about?"

"CAT scan revealed no tumors and Dr. Wilson found no trace of cancer."

"What about any other criteria?"

"No atherosclerotic vascular disease –"

"Are there any –"

"No pneumonia, no bacteriemia, no Hep-B or C or any other letters."

"Substance abuse? Any history of –"

"No alcohol, no drugs."

"Any psychiatric conditions, history of depression –"

"She's a little blue, but turns out she needs a heart transplant."

Cuddy glances at Vogler, who gives her a pointed look. "Dr. House, if you subvert or mislead this committee, you will be subject to disciplinary action."

House narrows his eyes. "Dr. Cuddy, do you have any reason to think that I would lie?"

"I simply want you to answer the question! Is there anything on the recipient exclusion criteria that would disqualify your patient from getting a heart?"

House makes a point to look at Wilson and Vogler before answering. "No."

That night, at eleven-thirty, House is looking through his office window. It's raining ouside. Wilson walks in with his hands on his hips.

House doesn't turn around. "Beautiful organ donor weather."

Wilson sighs in his best confrontation voice. "You lied, didn't you?"

"I never lie." House responds sarcastically. _Well, I never lie to you._

"Big mistake."

"Then you should have voted against putting her on the list."

 _I couldn't do that._ "You're my friend."

 _That's nice. Hy does it make me mad?_ "Oh, jeez. Have some backbone. If you think I'm wrong, do something."

 _Is that why you looked at me in there? Did you want me to challenge you?_ "Wait, you're getting mad at me for sticking up for you?"

 _No, I just… I'm glad we're friends._ "You value our friendship more than your ethical responsibilities."

 _Obviously. I value it over my possible marriage._ "Our friendship is an ethical responsibility." House's pager beeps. House reads it and Wilson is anxious. "What is it?"

"My patient's getting a heart."

House and Wilson walk to the observation for the OR. The surgeon making the first cut for the transplant. While this is happening, Jenny has come with Chase and Foremn to the Diagnostics office. Cameron has already gone home. Chase is staring out at the rain.

"He's not gonna fire you." Jenny assures him.

Foreman snorts. "I'd fire you. Bye bye."

Chase doesn't look away from the rain. "If I screw up, the patient dies… I'll never get another job."

"So go stick your head between your legs and lick your wounds in Stadt."

"Well, I like it here. You guys don't think it's weird House knew the patient needed a heart transplant before we did any heart tests?"

Jenny shrugs. "That's House. He knows things."

"But usually, he's putting it in our face, telling us how cleverly he figured it out. This time, nothing. Just "I had a hunch.""

Foreman nods. "It _is_ weird."

At one a.m., Chase is looking through Carly's hospital room. He goes through her magazines, her purse, and he finds the bottle of ipecac. At one-thirty, the surgeons inject Carly's heart, and the machines begin flatlining. Cameron is called in. She is sitting in House's office at two-thirty when the older teenager walks in.

"They just stopped Carly's heart. And your dumb patient –"

"They're all – oh, the guy who can't talk."

"Mr. Van Der Meer, he scheduled an appointment to see you."

"Oooh, goody." House tries not to yawn.

"I wanted you to know Chase is worried you're going to fire him."

"It's bad enough that screw-ups cost lives. Now we've got Vogler, screw-ups cost jobs. I want Chase scared. I want him doing everything he can to protect his job."

"Dr. House, if you were in his position wouldn't you be more likely to perform well if you were reassured and –"

"Oh, will you stop it with the book! Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not doing anything." She protests.

"You're manipulating everyone."

Cameron looks own at her feet. "People… dismiss me. Because I'm a woman, because I'm pretty, because I'm not aggressive. My opinions shouldn't be rejected just because people don't like me."

"They _like_ you. Everyone likes you."

He starts to walk away but Cameron's voice calls out..

"Do you?" House stares at Cameron blankly. "I _have_ to know."

House: No.

Cameron quietly whispers, "Okay," and she walks away.

The surgeon finally leaves the OR wing. House and Robin are waiting for him in the waiting area, and House playing on his Game Boy. It is nearly five o'clock. House pauses his game and peers down at his watch.

"Five hours, twenty-three minutes, that's fast."

"Is that good or bad?" Robin asks, looking between House and the surgeon.

"It depends. Either surgery went really well, or it ended really abruptly."

The surgeon smiles. "Textbook. She'll outlive us all."

"Thank you."

Later, House walks into the exam room in the clinic. Mr. Van der Meer is waiting for him, with his laptop on hand.

"So, sing for me."

Mr. Van der Meer looks at House, and then grabs his laptop.

House shakes his head. "Oh, no, no, no, no… come on, look. When you had your surgery, you were intubated. Surgeon stuck a tube down your throat. Now, it never happens, and it's never caught, but it happens. Your vocal chords were paralyzed. I treated the spastic dysphonia with Botox. Ironically, a substance that tightens every other corner of your face actually loosens the tongue. I have healed you. You can talk."

Mr. Van der Meer shakes his head.

"Oh, well." House shrugs. He goes to leave, and he turns around sharply. "BOOOO!"

Mr. Van der Meer grasps his laptop in fear, but there's no scream. House nods. "Okay, you don't have to say anything, it can be our little secret. If you can talk, blink twice."

Mr. Van der Meer just stares at House. House smirks slowly. "But you're not going to, because you think you won't be entitled to the money you won in the settlement with Simpson. Yesterday I would have said you'd have to give the money back. Today… hospital's come into a lot of money, mum's the word."

Mr. Van der Meer purposefully blinks twice, and House smiles. Mr. Van der Meer smiles back, and all is cheery in exam room one. At seven a.m., House is sitting by Carly's bed, and pokes her awake with his cane.

"Hey."

"Hey." She smiles.

"I know the cardiologist has given you some guidelines, schedule of medications, and a strict diet: just what someone with an eating disorder needs. So, I thought I'd get you started." He grabs a Styrofoam take-out container. "Fried chicken from the Carnegie Deli."

"You're kidding."

"Yeah. Actually, I got it downstairs."

Carly laughs a bit. "Why did you fight for me? You risked so much, and you hardly know me."

"You're my patient. Don't screw it up."

Carly nods, and House leaves. Minutes later, he's back in his office. The Who's _Baba O'Riley_ is playing through his iPod stereo, and House is playing air synthesizer on his desk, totally rocking out. Vogler walking down the hallway. He starts to air play the piano part, and Vogler walks in his office. House shouts that he loves the part over the music. He switches to air drums… and Vogler reaches over. He turns off the music.

"Okay. He ruined it."

"Just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. I'm Edward Vogler, new Chairman of the Board. In a way, I guess that makes me your boss."

"I am sorry about the lab coat thing. The dry cleaners destroyed it."

Vogler laughs and sits in the Wilson chair, as House mentally calls it. "That was my very first heart transplant meeting, very exciting."

"Trust me. Six Flags, way more exciting."

"Patient's very lucky to have such a passionate doctor who stands up for what he believes in."

"Sweet of you to say."

"Yeah. 'Fraid you've been duped, though." He pulls out the bottle of ipecac from his pocket. "The nurse found this in the patient's purse."

House feigns surprise. "Oh, my. If only I'd known."

"Tough being a doctor. You've got all that power. The power to play God."

"Yes, I don't envy the transplant committee their responsibility. They basically would have been forced to kill that poor girl. I'm not sure I could have done that."

"This is not a game to me, Dr. House."

House lowers his voice. "No. This is actually more like we're dancing right now, so let's get to the point. You don't like me. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like you. It's nothing personal, I don't like anybody. But none of that really matters, does it? Because you've got money, and I've got tenure. You need full board approval to get rid of me. I've got Cuddy."

"Right…"

"And Wilson." House continues. "So, as long as we're stuck with each other, we might as well ignore each other." He turns on the iPod and out comes _Hava Nagila_. The music is quickly turned off. "That wasn't _nearly_ as dramatic as I was hoping."

Vogler smiles as he rises to his feet. "I looked into that tenure thing, and you're right. It's actually easier for me to get rid of a board member like Cuddy or Wilson than to get rid of a doctor. That's interesting, isn't it?"

House is left with something to think about. He waits until Vogler is out of sight before he packs up to leave. _Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

 **Hi, there! Thank you for reading this. I hate Vogler so much. Him, and later on, it's Tritter. Tritter, House was getting payback. Vogler, House didn't even do shit. Why are you such a hardass? Alright, that leave _you_ with something to chat about. Please review or at least reread!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey. Wow, i totally missed the last two Thursdays! So much has been going on in my life, and blah blah blah. I am back now. This is 1.15 – Mob Rules. Let's see. I love House and I love Wilson. I like Early Cuddy. I like Chase. I'm indifferent to Cameron and Foreman. I hate Vogler. With a passion. But not so much as to actually kill him. I'm not going that far off of canon ground. At least, not with him. Right. So, remember the ages: House and Cuddy are 19; Wilson is 18; Foreman and Chase are 15; Cameron is 14. Foreman's birthday comes up next, probably in a few chapters. Speaking of, _this chapter_ starts off on a Thursday. Thursday, March 27th. That's my friend Sparky's birthday.**

Notice from before stands to claim.

It is nine-thirty a.m. in Cuddy's office, where she is meeting with Vogler.

"Don't have it."

"Budget?"

"Nope."

"Revenue statement, list of expenses…"

"House has been very busy."

"Saving New Jersey from leprosy, yes, I know. Getting me his numbers, that's your job."

House barges in as if on cue.

"We're in a meeting."

"Need the lawyer."

Vogler turns to face him. "Who'd you kill?"

"Nobody, but it's not even lunch. Got served with a federal court order. Some witness went into a coma and they want me to take a look at it." He tries to hand the paper over to Cuddy, but Vogler snatches it.

Vogler's voice turns positively sarcastic. "What? They want you to examine a sick person? This is a public relations nightmare. Don't think our staff do that kind of thing around here… this place would be crawling with sick people!"

"I'm a doctor, I'm not a lapdog for the feds; I don't play fetch."

"Nobody tells you what to do. Am I right, Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy ignores Vogler. "You have three choices: hire a lawyer to fight the order, treat the guy, or go to jail for contempt. Up to you."

House grabs the papers back. "Jail. You'd like that. No more naughty schoolgirl." He looks at Vogler. "Conjugal visit, that's her new fantasy."

Vogler tries not to laugh as House leaves. "We're not leaving until he's gone or you show me one good reason for keeping him."

Half an hour later, House is examining the witness, twenty-year-old Mr. Smith. House is shining lights in his eyes and needles in his feet. He finally holds his Nintendo DS up to Joey's ear.

"He's really out of it, huh?"

Not long after, House is walking with his team in the hallway.

Foreman is looking at the file. "Causes of coma: metabolic, structural –"

Chase grabs said file. "He had his stomach pumped! Why would they do that?"

"Rule out poisoning."

"Huh. Not the typical first guess."

"No, the first guess was faking it. Patient's a federal witness, reluctant, I'm assuming. He's also an eight on the Glasgow coma scale."

Foreman whistles. "That's barely alive. Pretty tough to fake it."

"Any recent history of head trauma?" Cameron asks. "Bad car accident, fall?"

"They tell me no, but do an MRI to be sure."

They round the corner to Diagnostics, and a twenty-something man is standing by the door.

Chase is listing things off. "Metabolic causes. Liver, kidney, diabetes –"

House nods. "Check for everything, feds are paying. We're gonna turn a profit on this one, boys."

The ducklings leave House's side. He unenthusiastically shakes the other man's hand as he introduces himself. House wrenches his hand away and they start walking.

"Dr. House, Bill Arnello. I'm a lawyer, I represent Mr. Smith. What's wrong with him?"

"Do I come to you with my problems?"

"He's also my brother."

"What, you changed your name? "Smith" wasn't good enough for you?"

"His name's Joey, he's my only brother."

"He's important to you, got it. So, no placebos for him, we'll use the real medicine." The elevator dings, and House gets in. "Well, this was fun, let's do it again soon."

He sighs as Bill follows him in. "Brother in the Mafia?" House questions as the doors close. With no response, House continues. "So, just Joey? I was hoping for a nickname. Joey Mango. Joey the Wrench." Bill hits the emergency stop. "People know where I am."

"I want you to do your job. Diagnose him, fix him, and keep him here."

"There's a problem with that. We're a bit of a specialized hospital. We generally only deal with patients when they're actually sick."

"If you release my brother to the government, and he does what they want, even if you fix him, he's dead. I need time to convince him of that." He shuts off the stop. "Good news is, if you screw up you don't have to worry about a malpractice suit. If he's dead, one by one, I'll take away the things you love 'till there's nothing left."

The elevator opens, and House leaves. "So, on the Mafia thing, that's a yes."

Forty-five minutes later, Joey is entering the MRI.

Cameron turns to Chase, biting her lip. "Did House seem weird to you?"

"Are you expecting him to be weird?"

"We spoke about how we felt."

"You told him you liked him?"

Cameron shakes her head. "No, of course not."

"What are you talking about, then?"

"I asked him if he liked me."

Chase gapes. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I like him."

"You like him, like him?"

"Doesn't matter, he doesn't like me."

"Hey, he doesn't like anybody. And nobody likes him."

"What about Wilson?"

He throws a hand in the air. "Exception to the rule."

Cameron smirks softly. "Exception to _a lot_ of the rules."

After the scan and reading the results, the team assembles in Joey's room.

Chase looks at the unconscious twenty-year-old. "MRI showed a subdural hematoma."

Foreman agrees. "Bleeding around his brain caused pressure inside his head which caused the coma."

House is looking at the scan. "These look like pseudomembranes. Those take time to form. If it was an old injury it wouldn't have caused the coma."

Cameron is looking through the vague files. "Patient history indicates he was hit with a tire iron in 1996. Brother says he was changing a tire and it slipped."

"Subdural hematoma placed where this one is, it could have caused his coma." Foreman continues.

"What about his liver?" House asks.

Cameron takes a look. "LFTs are slightly elevated."

"Key word is slightly." Chase adds. "As in, not high enough to cause the coma. It's the subdural."

Foreman has a suggestion. "I say we evacuate the cavity, see if he wakes up."

"The neurologist thinks it's his brain, wants to open up his head. Frankly, I'm shocked! You get to use the big boy drill and Daddy's big red toolbox."

"No drilling." Joey mutters uncomfortably. He opens his eyes and sees all the doctors in his room. "Hi."

Foreman rushes over, trying to shine a light in his eyes. "Mr. Smith!"

"Call me Joe. Can you not do that? So, we're clear about the no drilling?"

An hour later, the team is leaving the elevator, to the lobby. Chase is the first to say anything.

"He's okay now, he can leave."

House shakes his head. "I'm not releasing him."

"Because the brother doesn't want you to?"

"Or because he had an unexplained coma, which sounds better?"

"The hematoma caused the coma."

"That's a catchy diagnosis, you could dance to that."

Foreman exhales. "I think Chase is right. It still should be evacuated, but it's not an immediate threat."

"Cameron's my girl." House looks to her hopefully.

"I'd release him."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you disagreeing with me because –"

"I'm disagreeing because that's my medical opinion."

"Of course it is. But unless I've been named as the fourth part of the Axis of Evil, invaded and occupied, this is still not a democracy. He's staying. Send for Hepatitis serologies and an autoimmune panel."

He finishes the conversation in a tone challenging anyone to disagree as he enters the clinic. He grabs a file from exam room one and walks in. On the bed, a kid about his age is holding a toddler boy.

"Hey. I'm with you." He says by means of greeting. "Old enough to drink, old enough to do something really stupid and make yourself a baby."

The teen, Henry, shakes his head. "He's my brother. I'm watching him while my parents are in Barbados. He's having trouble breathing and there's a lot of wheezing."

House starts listening to the kid's breathing with his stethoscope. "Whistling, technically. Upper airways, nose."

"If he's got the croup, that could become meningitis, right?"

"Absolutely." House responds as he leans over the kid.

"I was just studying and all of a sudden I hear him crying and sounding all weird. My parents are going to kill me."

House reaches into the kid's nose with tweezers. "I doubt it."

Henry scoffs. "You don't know them."

"No, I doubt you were studying while your parents were away." He retrieves a tiny toy policeman from the kid's nose. "Hello, officer. You might want to rinse this off before you let him play with it again."

His beeper beeps. _911 Joe's gone_. Immediately, House stands and sprints as fast as possible with his cane as an aid. He enters Joey's now empty room and glares at his fellows.

"What happened? Where is he?"

Foreman sighs. "Vogler called admitting, admitting called Justice, Justice came and took him away."

House allows distaste to show in his voice. "And who called Vogler?"

All the ducklings look at each other. Aggravated, House stalks back to his office. At the last minute, he decides to go elsewhere. Meanwhile, Vogler and Cuddy remain in meeting.

"He loses money."

Cuddy eyes him. "So does ophthalmology. Who cares, this is a hospital. You can't just cut a department!"

"You can't control him."

"I am the only one that can control him."

House barges in again.

"D-D-D-D-Dr. House in the House!" Vogler calls out. "Impeccable timing as always."

House ignores this. "You had no authority to release my patient."

Vogler smirks, sitting down to watch the show. "My colleague has just informed me that she has a singular talent. You are just in time for a demonstration."

"Dr. House, from what I understand, your –"

House tries not to raise his voice. "From what you understand? He's not your patient; how the hell do you understand anything?"

"That's sad." Vogler comments.

House hisses, "You're not even a doctor."

"John Smith is here only because of court order. I had the records faxed to the judge; she rescinded the order." Vogler admits.

House advances on him. "Why bother, just to piss me off?"

"Keeping the government off our ass. Hmm. Yeah." House's pager beeps, but he pays this no mind. "That makes no sense for a public institution."

"Okay." Having read his page, he turns to leave.

"Okay what?" Cuddy raises a brow.

"Okay, sir. Carry on." He leaves, heading for the emergency room..

"He really cares about his patients."

Vogler nods shortly. "Yeah, and he just walked out of here with nothing. Something's up."

He stands to follow House. Cuddy is shortly behind. Downstairs in the emergency room, paramedics are wheeling Joey in on a stretcher.

Everhardt is used to House and explains what's happened. "He just started vomiting and passed out."

A paramedic spouts the information. "Twenty-year-old male, vital signs are stable now. Gave him two liters en route. Just released from here two hours ago."

Cuddy and Vogler walk up. Everhardt turns on them. "You said he was good to go."

House glares at them as he follows Joey. "So, your junior G-man badge isn't looking so good."

An hour later, Joey is readjusted in his room. In the diagnostics office, the ducklings are spurting through ideas with House.

Chase frowns. "His liver's worse."

"Comatose?"

Cameron quavers. "No, completely different symptoms than the first time."

"Serology tests came back positive for Hep-C."

House stares at Chase. "Hep-C is a chronic condition. You don't think this is an acute situation?"

"Coma, vomiting, abdominal pain, Hep-C explains everything."

"Except for the suddenness of the onset."

Foreman doesn't get it. "What's wrong with the timing?"

"You get home one night. Your wife hits you with a baseball bat. Likely cause is the fact you haven't thanked her for dinner in eight years, or the receipt for fur handcuffs she found in your pants. Sudden onset equals proximate cause."

Chase pieces something together from the metaphor. "He also has high estrogen levels in his blood. That's indicative of a chronic condition, not acute."

"One test. What do his other liver tests tell us?"

Cameron licks her lips. "Normal albumin levels point toward acute."

"Uh-huh. And why is her test better than mine?"

"Because she's cuter." Cameron looks uncomfortable. "Though not by much. Do a liver biopsy. When the results come back we'll know what we're looking at."

Chase decidedly ignores how House basically said he's cute. "Why wait to treat the Hep-C? If I'm right, Joey gets better that much faster."

"Right. Then he gets to testify, and you get a gold star from Cuddy."

"Then what's the downside? Or is that the downside?"

"Do I have a reason for not wanting you to get any stars?" Everyone looks confused. "Fine, start the treatment. It's all your idea. Don't even mention my name. There's nothing wrong with your theory, go." They all get up, and House continues. "But in the "humor me" department, get a biopsy while you're at it." They start to leave again, but House calls for a specific duckling. "Foreman, we need to talk."

House and Foreman enter House's office. Foreman waits under House's scrutinizing gaze. "You're off the case."

"What? Why?"

"Somebody told Vogler that I lied to the transplant committee."

"You think I did?"

House turns away. "You're too careful. You wouldn't jump ship unless you knew what was in the water."

"Stop, you're embarrassing me." He deadpans.

"But I want Vogler to think I think it's you. And I want Cameron, and Chase, and Cuddy, and Wilson, and the nursing staff, and the damned cashier in the parking lot to think that, too."

"Right."

Foreman leaves the office to burn off some hours in the emergency room. Thirty minutes later, Chase doing an ultrasound of Joey's liver.

"The blood tests show you have Hepatitis C. It's a virus that infects the liver."

"No way." Bill groans.

"Well, it's not all bad news. It can often be cured, and even if not, it's manageable."

"How'd my brother get this?"

"Usually it involves the exchange of bodily fluids, the, uh –"

"Bodily fluids, what are you talking about?"

"There are many ways the virus can be transmitted. Sharing needles, blood transfusions –"

Bill suddenly snaps his head up. He quickly advances on Chase, angrily pointing his finger in the teenager's face. "Hey! Nobody talks to my brother like this, okay?"

Chase blinks, voice barely wavering. "Fine. I've no idea how he got it. But he has Hepatitis-C. We're going to start him on Interferon –"

Bill slaps Chase hard across the face. "He doesn't have it, don't mention it again, don't treat him for it."

Chase flips his hair out of his eyes and looks mad, but does nothing. Thirty minutes pass, and Vogler is still in Cuddy's office. Her desk is a mess of papers and folders.

Cuddy is leafing through a folder while attempting to explain what House does for the hospital. "House has some directed donations, foundation support… It's around here…"

"He makes you miserable. All this time he's worked here, never made a dime for you, never listened to you."

"He can change, he's –"

"He hasn't changed in years. Either _he_ can't change, or _you_ can't change him. You have no idea how many times he's lied to you, undercut your authority, made you look like crap to other doctors."

Cuddy matches his eyes. "Yes, I hate him, and here I am, desperately trying to protect his job. What does that tell you?"

"That you don't hate him."

"I do not protect people I like. I protect people who are assets to this hospital."

"No. That's me. You, you're softer."

"Right. There are three female Chiefs of Medicine at major hospitals in this country and we all got there using our feminine wiles."

"It's human nature to wanna protect people we like."

"I don't like him!" She cries out, really hoping she doesn't sound like a spoiled teenager.

"We think if we can just form the right team, we'll all get along, be able to pull the boat –"

"I don't get along with him!"

"Well, this is not a team, it's not a boat, and it's not a machine that has a lot of parts that have to work together. The metaphors are all crap. This is a business. That's all it is. You like him, that's bad for business."

Back in the clinic, now around three o'clock, House is once again trying to get something out of that poor kid's nose.

"Ah, this is all my fault." Henry sighs.

"Took another homework break with Betty Lou?"

"No, last week I showed Eddy here a magic trick."

"Pulled a quarter out of his nose. It's a classic."

"Yeah, now he won't stop shoving stuff up there."

Bill barges in. "Dr. House."

"Got a crisis here!"

Henry whispers to Eddy, "It's okay."

However, the kid shakes his head. He growls and tries to bite House's hand. Bill calmly walks up and lowers himself to Eddy's eye level.

"Stop!"

Eddy shuts up, allowing House to pull a firefighter out of his nose. "It's a neat trick."

"They have to believe you'll actually hurt them."

"Ah." House nods in understanding.

Half an hour later, House and Bill are entering House's office. Bill decides to break the ice. "Your people insulted my brother."

"What, they put romano in the parmesan cheese shaker again?"

"Said he was a crackhead or a homo or something."

In a cynical, sarcastic voice, House glares at Bill. "Those idiots. How many times am I going to have to send them through sensitivity training? Nobody's saying he's a homo. That would be really, really bad. So let's put a nice, friendly spin on it. Let's go with: he got raped in prison. I saw the jailhouse tats, put it together with the blood tests…"

Bill drags a hand over his face. "There were rumors, but Joey never said anything about…. If people find out he's being treated for Hep-C? Feds get that chart, someone says something to somebody, and word'll get out. And then Joey's manhood, his rep is destroyed."

"You're worried about how his coworkers will react in the Walmart in Des Moines."

"He's not going into Witness Protection, I won't let that happen."

House sighs as well. "Listen, I don't know if you know about this, but mob businesses sometimes keep two sets of books."

"One legit, one not."

"Exactly." House answers, leaning back in his chair.

"You jerking my chain?"

House shrugs. " Hey. Doctors are busy, sometimes they forget to write things down, it happens all the time."

"Thanks." He turns to leave. "Oh, and whatever you're not giving him for whatever he doesn't have, is that going to fix him?"

House smirks at the terminology. "I doubt it."

Later at night, at roughly six, Wilson and House have checked out. Wilson is walking in the parking garage. House catches up to him.

"On your way to polish Vogler's car?"

"Gone are the days of the grumpy old doc seeing patients in the basement of his house, getting paid a few chickens."

House pouts. "How will I eat?"

"You know what Cuddy has been locked in with Vogler about all day today, and yesterday?"

"Floor polish costs through the roof?"

Wilson sighs deeply. "You. Her secretary's been to the photocopier all day with your records. It's all they're looking at in there."

House looks shocked. "My car has been stolen."

They look around for it, and see a 1965 red Corvette in House's parking space. Wilson picks up a piece of paper stuck in the windshield wiper.

"Or rein- _car_ -nated." Wilson remarks. "…Pink slip. "A gift from the Arnello brothers.""

House is smiling now. "You know, they're gangsters, sure, but they're thoughtful, too."

 _Seriously? The one time a patient gives House something… and it's a car? A corvette? Is this even real life right now?_ "You can't keep it. It's graft."

House shakes his head in dismissal. "No, no, no, no. Uh-uh. Graft is if I tell them I'll only make him better if he slips me a couple bucks. A payoff for something I'm not supposed to do. If I'd asked for the payoff – which I didn't by the way – I would have done the bad thing anyway. So there's nothing wrong with this."

 _Okay… makes sense._ "Right."

"Damn. '65. Perfectly restored. What do you think a guy like Joey would do if someone turned down a gift? That's kind of an insult, isn't it?"

 _Refusing an offer from the Mafia?_ "He might hurt you. It's definitely possible."

House grins almost gleefully. "I'm screwed. Gotta take the car."

House hops into the driver's seat. He quickly finds the keys in the glove box and lets it rev. He listens to it with so much excitement. Out of his peripheral vision, he notices Wilson's shoulders slump a little. Just as Wilson begins to move toward his own car, House speaks up.

"Hey, Jimmy. Ditch the Volvo. Get in here."

"House, it's no"

"Get your ass in here or I'm leaving you behind."

Wilson sees the mischievous glint in his eyes, as well as the seriousness in his voice. He quickly rounds up to the passenger's side, meeting House's grin. House peels out of the parking lot but, to Wilson's surprise, House maintains the speeds limit on the main roads. The ride is a comfortable silence between the two. Wilson has to admit he loves the smooth feeling of the ride. House is getting great enjoyment not only from driving the car but also from Wilson being relaxed in the car with him driving for once. When House finally drives up to Wilson's driveway, both boys are upset.

 _Well, that was certainly fun while it lasted._ "Thanks for the ride, Greg." The first name just rolls off his tongue in his relaxed state. "I'll, uh, see you at work tomorrow."

 _No way is he going to actually take a bus or a cab. I simply won't allow it._ "Don't think you're getting off that easy, Jimmy."

"Huh?"

House smiles. "I'll pick you up in the morning."

Wilson can't help but grin at the aspect. As he walks to his 'house', he notices Julie standing by the door. Behind him, he hears House squeal the tires. He shakes his head, ready for his fiancé to start yelling at him over not driving his 'perfectly safe' car home. The next morning, at eight-thirty on the dot, the skinny corvette pulls into the driveway. Wilson is resting on the trunk of his Volvo. He seems peeved, and House reads him clearly.

"Julie?"

"Julie." Wilson grumbles in agreement.

House clicks on an eighties rock channel on the radio as he maneuvers out of the drive. By the time the doctors reach the hospital, they are much more relaxed than they had been earlier. House parks in the parking garage, in a handicapped place still close to the doors. It's just a little past nine when they check in up front. The ducklings are already busy on their case. Chase has just finished taking notes on Joey. He now joins the others in the lab.

"Did you see House's new car?" Cameron asks.

Chase nods. "Joey. He obviously can't keep it."

"You don't mind the hospital taking money from Vogler?"

"That's different, Vogler's legit."

"That's worse. Vogler's money came with strings."

Chase snorts. "Vogler doesn't set me up to have a mobster take a swing at me."

"I'm sure House didn't know –"

Foreman enters, breaking up the spat. "Joey's pressure dropped. Pushed IV fluids, now he's holding 100 systolic."

Cameron is alert. "Septic?"

"No, looks like he's bleeding into his liver."

Chase huffs. "Varices. You see it with chronic Hep-C all the time."

House enters then. "Biopsy's back. Two findings. Number one: lymphocytic infiltrate and no bridging fibrosis."

"Well, whatever's killing him is not Hep-C. It's acute."

"Who said that? I forget. What are you doing here? I told you you were off the case."

"Right. Your diabolic plan to convince the evil genius he's in the clear so he'll let his guard down and make a fatal mistake, sure."

"Well, it's clearly not going to work now."

"What evil genius?" Chase questions, interested.

"If we knew that, then we wouldn't need a diabolic plan now, would we?"

Foreman informs him, "House thinks someone ratted him out to Vogler."

"Oh, what?" chase sounds defensive. "One of us?"

House rolls his eyes sarcastically. "No, you guys love me too much."

Chase shakes his head. "All right, look, if it's not the Hep-C, then what's the problem? What's causing the liver failure?"

"Finding number two: toxins."

Cameron shakes her head. "No. He's only twenty years old and his job doesn't expose him to heavy metals or environmental –"

"He's a twenty-year-old mobster. He doesn't have a job that results in accidental exposure to toxins, he has a job that results in intentional exposure to toxins. Someone's poisoned him."

An hour later, the Feds standing outside Joey's door, while the team is seated around the diagnostic offices.

"Whatever this toxin is, it's doing its job and fast. How long do we have until the next round of test results?"

Chase checks his watch. "About four hours."

Foreman scoffs, looking through the latest results. "Too bad his liver's only going to last another two."

Cameron scans over them as well. "We're going to have to get him a new one."

Chase scoffs, "What, in two hours?"

House grimaces. "There is _another_ way." When the fellows stare at him incredulously, he rolls his eyes. "Relax, it's kosher."

In under an hour a pig is being walked down the hallway. A little later, said pig is prepped and in the OR. It's hooked up to Joey via a set of tubes. Bill and Chase are watching in the observatory.

"This is so bizarre."

"Not really. We just take the blood out of Joey's body and run it through a pig. The pig's liver does what Joey's can't, cleans the blood, which we send right back to him."

"And the pig makes him better?" Bill asks hopefully mixed with skeptically.

Chase sighs. "No, just buys us some time to figure out what's poisoning your brother."

"Like you do this all the time?"

Chase grins despite this being the man who hit him earlier. "Oh, we've basically got a barn in the basement."

Meanwhile, Foreman and Cameron are in the lab.

"Cross off hemlock."

Foreman just stares at her. "You thought he was being poisoned by _hemlock_? Dr. Euripides tell you to check for that?"

"Grows wild by the highways out here."

Foreman changes the subject. "How much do you like House?"

Cameron closes her eyes momentarily. "Chase has a big mouth."

"Yeah." Foreman agrees. "He's probably the one who ratted to Vogler."

"I don't think that he would –"

"Does it hurt when you're with House? Little pain in the tummy, but it sort of feels good, too?"

"I don't have the right to show interest in someone?"

"You absolutely do, and I absolutely have the right to humiliate you for it."

Just then, House enters the lab. "Anything?"

Foreman groans, "White blood count's low; probably a result of the illness, nothing to connect to the liver."

"Is he a smoker?"

"Let me check." Cameron moves to scan through his files.

House goes to look at the chest x-ray. "Early signs of emphysema. He's been smoking close to a dozen years."

Cameron looks to him with awe. "Ten years. You got that from the white count?"

"Nope, got that from the chest x-ray. White count just tells me he's quitting."

He goes to look over Cameron's shoulder, who looks uncomfortable. "Two weeks ago."

House leaves, and Foreman looks to Cameron with a smirk. "How's your tummy?"

"Flat and taut."

In the hallway where the feds are, Brady and Everhardt are chatting about their lives.

Brady sighs. "I've been on the job for twelve years."

"You put three thousand dollars in your wife's checking account this morning. I want to know where it came from."

"I got a perfect record."

"Where did you get the money?"

House walks up, interrupting their spat. "Cancel the thumb screws, I've got our culprit."

"Who?" Everhardt demands.

"Not who, Hu."

"Huh?"

House sneers. "Thanks for playing along. Chai Hu, a Chinese herb in his quit smoking candy. Reduces cravings, also reduces his white blood count. Oh yeah, he also took enough of them to poison himself. We'll keep him on the pig for a few more hours, then take him off the candy, he'll be fine. Pig won't be. Oh no."

Twenty minutes later in Joey's room. Bill is sitting in a chair, waiting for something to happen. Sure enough, Joey wakes up.

"Hey." His voice is hoarse.

"Hey, you feeling better?"

"Famished."

"I think they've got fish sticks on the menu."

Joey offers his brother a hollow laugh. "Makes me miss prison."

An hour later, House and Wilson are cruising down the road in the 'Vette. They've gone out for some sandwiches and fries at a local diner. Now, they're returning to the hospital when Wilson comments on House's current case.

"So, the mobster's good to go?"

"I'll keep him overnight, then let the feds know he's good to rat out whoever he wants."

"Brother won't be happy."

House scowls. "Maybe have to give back the car."

Wilson lets out a long sigh. "You should let Vogler tell the feds."

"Why?" House tears his eyes away from the road to stare at his best friend in shock.

"Because it matters to him. Because you humiliated him the first time Joey was released. You think you should still be in third there, Ace?"

"He humiliated himself."

"And because your job depends on the kind of mood Vogler's in at the end of his marathon with Cuddy." Wilson stares at the shift. "Seriously, man, have you ever driven an automobile before? There are four gears, you know."

 _Of course I have. This is fun._ "The '66 came with a Shut Up button."

It doesn't take too long for them to get back. The boys separate in the hall for corresponding offices. Near three o'clock, House makes a point of walking into the clinic, in his lab coat. He enters Cuddy's office, where she's _still_ meeting with Vogler.

"It is my medical opinion that the patient is healthy and can be released."

"Thanks for letting us know." Vogler smirks as he picks up the phone. "Give me the U.S. Attorney's office."

Cuddy discreetly whispers to House. "I see you've found out what we're meeting about."

"You're having a meeting?" House feigns innocence.

"Well, whatever the reason, the coat looks good on you." She looks at the chart. "Chai Hu lozenges cause this kind of liver failure, no way!"

"Not by themselves, but in combination with the Interferon it's like gas to a flame."

Cuddy raises an eyebrow. "What Interferon?"

"For the Hep-C."

She moves to the door, House following. "What Hep-C?"

"Oops." House looks up to the ceiling.

"Is hiding a mobster's Hep-C that important?"

"Is letting the feds know everything that important?" House fires back as his pager beeps.

"You know, you are a piece of work, even now."

House grimaces at his pager and ignores her. "Ed!"

Vogler stares at him with a frown, phone still in his hand. "Edward."

"Joey's back in a coma."

Not long after, the team is gathered in the Diagnostics office. They're standing around the whiteboard, with House holding the marker.

"He's stable, but comatose." Chase mutters aloud.

Foreman brushes his hands over his pants. "Worse than before, he's on a ventilator."

"Question is, why? It's not his brain, it's not a toxin. Our friend Babe helped with that one. So what else?"

"The Hep-C." The aussie's eyes widen. "We never really treated it, we stopped the Interferon when it started poisoning his liver."

"Am I going to have to write a song about it? His chronic Hep-C was not bad enough to produce these symptoms."

Foreman frowns. "The estrogen level indicates it is."

"Indicates something else entirely."

Cameron sighs. "We can't give him Interferon now. There's a still trace of the lozenges in his system. It'll just poison him again,"

Chase runs a hand through his hair. "Genetics. We don't just treat the virus, we change it. A non-nucleoside allosteric inhibitor."

Foreman shakes his head. "It's never been tried on a human being. It could kill him."

"Well, what's the difference? He's dead without it."

"They're running a trial on dogs at St. Sebastian's in Philadelphia. I'll make the call."

As the three others start to leave, House calls out to no one in particular. "What else could cause his estrogen level to be that high?"

Cameron waves her arms. "Nothing."

They leave. House stays, staring at the whiteboard. Chase is in the room, administering medicine to Joey while Bill looks on.

"We're going to put the medicine here. We don't want it to burn his veins when it goes in."

"You have no idea if it will work."

"It's shown promise in testing."

Around four o'clock, House is back in the clinic. Henry and Eddy are making yet another visit.

"Maybe there's nothing up there, I watched him like a hawk."

Eddy, on the other hand, cries and screams as the doctor checks him out.

"Pretty sure you didn't."

Henry hugs his brother. "I didn't let him play with any more little toys."

"Thus forcing him to shove a big one up there." The kid is still crying, so House growls at him. "Stop or I snap your nose off!"

Miraculously, in House's opinion, the kid stops crying! House pulls a fire truck out of his nose, which goes with the policeman and the firefighter.

"He's not too smart." Henry says sheepishly.

House eyes the line of toys. "Genetics is a powerful force. On the other hand, maybe he's smarter than you think."

"What's going on?"

"Just give me a second." He grins with an obvious mischievous glint in his eyes. "Always wanted to use one of these." He grabs a big magnet, and demonstrates its use by picking scissors up off of the counter. "Tilt his head back."

Henry stares at the teen doctor in slight alarm. "I don't know."

House scoffs. "Just tilt his head back." He uses said magnet, and a metal cat comes out of Henry's nose. "Nice grasp of concepts, relationships. Very smart, very cool. First the policeman, fireman, fire truck. Your brother was sending in teams to save the cat."

"Wow." Henry is amazed.

"Sometimes the simplest answer…" He trails off in thought, and Occam's Razor strikes.

Still in his lab coat, House returns to his office, yo-yoing by the whiteboard. He's paged for Chase to join him. Upon seeing the Aussie's hair bouncing in, House speaks up.

"Most types of coma you just don't snap out of."

"He's not snapping out of this one, he's not improving. You crossed out estrogen, you've got an explanation?"

"Yes, I have. A very simple one."

"And?" Chase moves his arm in an attempt to have House elaborate.

"It's private."

Chase exhales slowly. "You think I'm the one running to Vogler."

"You're currently top of the list. Toxic comas, person's away from the cause long enough and they recover."

"The feds checked for poisons, we checked for poisons. I didn't do it."

Ignoring the last statement, House responds, "It's not a poison, then."

"An allergy, then. Did you hear me?"

"How about a food sensitivity?"

"All of his food is strictly controlled. There's no correlation between his meals and his condition. He had steak and potatoes before the first coma, and the hospital served fish sticks before the second one. _I actually like you._ You can trust me."

"Problem is, if I can't trust you, I can't trust your statement that I can trust you. _Damn it all that I seriously want to trust you._ " _Right now, it seems like I can only trust Wilson. Maybe Cuddy. But you? You basically work for me. I don't know about trusting you._ "But thanks anyway, you've been a big help."

Twenty minutes later, House walks up to Marshal Brady in the hallway.

"So where did you get the money?"

"What?" The man is confused.

"Someone paid you off."

"What are you talking about? It wasn't poison, you told us that it –"

"You're talking about poison. I'm talking about payoff. Graft."

"Leave him alone." Bill walks off.

House glare shifts. " _You_ paid the marshal off."

"I didn't pay him to poison my brother."

"No, it just worked out that way."

"I gave the guy some money to get him some decent food."

"Better than fish sticks? I'm thinking steak."

Bill shrugs. "We asked for pasta. Those stupid feds could care less –"

House cuts him off. "He had steak before both comas. Your brother has Ornithine Transcarbamylase Deficiency. You want me to write it down? Good, because it takes a while. It's genetic, it can present at any time. The patient eats a large amount of protein, especially if he's not used to it."

Bill gapes. "That's it? He stays off the red meat and he's going to be fine?"

"Yes. If I'm right, and we stop the current treatment, he gets better. If we stop the current treatment and I'm wrong, he dies."

"Why would you be wrong?"

"His estrogen level. OTD doesn't explain his estrogen level. But I have a theory. There is one chemical that, if ingested, can cause a person's estrogen level to increase dramatically."

He sits in the waiting area. Bill follows.

"What is it?"

"It's called estrogen."

Bill's eyes widen farther, if at all possible. "Joey's taking estrogen? What, he wants a sex change?"

"No, nothing like that. It's called Male Flame. It's probably more consumer friendly in the original Chinese. It's an herbal aphrodisiac marketed to gay men."

"Oh, here we go."

"And sold on the same website that sells his Chai Hu lozenges." House continues. "Guess what's in it? Starts with an "e"."

Bill narrows his eyes. "You want to get hit, too?"

"That would be quite a trick. "He slapped me so hard his brother turned straight." Joey's a big-time mobster. Guys like that don't get raped in prison. They get gifts, they get food, drugs, cigarettes, cable TV…"

Bill sits next to House. "Joey is _not_ gay."

"Well, maybe not gay, but certainly delightful. You, on the other hand, hitting a doctor, even if it was only Chase… and asking another one to keep his chart fresh and homo-free. Well, that's a bit of an overreaction, wouldn't you say? It's almost like you're scared that it might be true."

"You're wrong."

"Okay. Then don't stop the treatment." He stands and starts to leave, looking over his shoulder. "But if you're wrong, he dies."

Close to seven, Joey is hooked up to multiple machines. Chase is attending, and House is watching through the wall. Bill walks up.

"Okay." House taps his cane and nods to Chase, who stops the medicine. "He never said anything to me about it, not once."

"That's what I love about you mob guys: so tolerant of others, so accepting. Only way he was coming out was way, way out. Lose the tattoos, change his name, move to another town… how's a guy like him going to do that? Witness protection. It's not just for witnesses any more."

Chase walks up. "You can go in now, sit with him if you want."

At midnight, Cameron has gone home. Bill is sitting in a waiting area.

"How much longer?" He looks hopefully to Foreman.

"It's only been five hours. If it's the OTD –"

"If it's the OTD? What if House is wrong, huh?"

"That severe a reaction, it'll take some time –"

"He makes assumptions about people, talks you into things."

Chase steps in, then. "Mr. Arnello. He's awake. He wants to see you."

Minutes later, Bill walks into Joey's room. His younger brother coughs lightly.

"You look like crap. That's a joke, see. I'm sick, I said you look like crap –"

Bill is in near tears. 'You have no idea what I just went through out there. You kept getting worse, and Dr. House kept saying all this crap. If I think you're normal, then he's going to keep giving you the medicine, and if you weren't…"

"Weren't what?" He asks as Bill sits by his feet. "Normal?"

"Yeah. He said you were a fag. Witness protection, that's your big chance to be one."

Joey avoids his eyes. "You believe him?"

"I don't know what to believe. You were sick. I had to make a decision. I thought you were gonna die."

Joey sits up. "You believed him. He stopped the medicine. Here I am. I wanted to talk to you about this –"

Bill shakes his head. "There's nothing to talk about. You, uh, ordered some Chinese internet health crap, they sent the wrong pills, you took 'em."

Joey lies back down. "Yeah, yeah, that, uh, that must be it."

Bill walks over to him. "You want to testify, go ahead. I told the doc, he said it's okay."

Joey still doesn't look at him. "I don't expect you to understand –"

"I don't. All I need to know is you're my brother, Joey. If you think this thing, whatever, is going to make you happy, I think you should do it. You should."

Joey grabs Bill's hand, and they come to a silent agreement. House is still in his lab coat when Cuddy arrives at six a.m. He walks behind her, into her office.

"Vogler wants to fire you. Lose the whole department."

"Good thing you fought for me, though, right? The dress was a nice move, but you've got to follow it up. Nasty weekend in Vegas, something that shows off your real administrative skills." He pops a Vicodin.

Cuddy sits at her desk. "He threatened to fire me."

House's face is suddenly devoid of emotions. "I'm sorry. So, how long do I have? I've a lot of personal stuff to pack up. I assume you're going to want to throw a party."

Cuddy shakes her head. "I told him I know where the bodies are buried, the stuff he needs to know that's not in the books. Told him he can't ditch me."

House's eyes show a small glimmer of hope. "He's only keeping you on because you know the secret handshakes. He's a quick study. Six months, he'll have the moves down. Then he won't need you any more."

"I'll deal with that then."

"So I stay."

"Yes. But some things are going to change."

Two hours later, Wilson arrives to work. House meets him in the hallway before Diagnostics. He's no longer in his lab coat.

"Profits. New world order."

 _You didn't go to sleep last night, did you? You didn't even go home last night, did you?_ " Huh."

"Everything's about profits."

"Yeah, that's real new. You could rent out the Corvette every once in a while, or lend it to a friend." _You know, me._

 _Sly, sly Jimmy. You just want my car._ "That would be easy, and it would be wrong."

"But Cuddy stood up for you."

House shrugs with a slight sigh. "To a point."

"To what point?"

"I gotta do six more clinic hours a month. So do two of them." He stops and nods to the Ducklings on the other side of the wall.

"Why only two?"

"'Cause one of them's gone. I gotta fire somebody."

House walks into the office, leaving behind a shocked Wilson. House and Wilson share a look through the glass before Wilson moves on and House starts the day with his team and trusty whiteboard. "Good morning."

 **I kept thinking I was writing a Gotham fanfiction during this. I had to keep reminding myself not to go overboard with the gang stuff. Please review! I love that so many of you are reading this. Please, I'd love to hear from some of you! Review if you have some pointers, ideas, want to tell me what you like, don't like… Honestly, I just really want to hear from you lot!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello, hello, hello and how are you? Well, this is another chapter already. Yeah, i felt bad for missing two weeks. I needed a break from the EESE and psych, so I'm here to bring to you 1.16 – Heavy. This starts on April 6th. I don't have anything more to say.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

House leaves Exam Room two with disgust written on his face. He walks up to Cuddy, who is standing by the clinic desk.

"You ever see an infected pierced scrotum?"

"Um, no, but I know a few people on whom I'd like to see it happen. We need to talk."

"Well, if pain's what you're after the penis is really the way to go. I'd recommend the apadravya." They start walking toward the elevator.

"We're not talking."

"Oh? Sounded like we were."

"No, you're attempting to avoid talking because you know what I want to talk about."

"Nipples?"

Cuddy sighs. "You need to get rid of one of your people."

"Absolutely. As soon as I do performance reviews. And then review the reviews, of course." He deflects. "Because a decision like this can't be made without proper, you know, review. Shouldn't take longer than a month, maybe two. Four at the most, unless it gets complicated."

Cuddy folds her arms, trying to remain authoritarian. "There's no way out on this. You may as well get it over with as fast as you can, like ripping off a band-aid."

"Only instead of a two-cent piece of tape and gauze it's a human being."

"Like you care."

"Like you don't."

The elevator opens, revealing Cameron.

"You have a week. Get it done."

Cameron gets out of the elevator. House goes into the elevator, so Cameron sighs and follows. Deciding not to ask about what Cuddy was talking about, she begins to tell him what she'd originally planned. "We have a referral from Dr. Linkowitz."

"Don't know him."

"He knows you."

"What's the problem?"

"Heart attack."

"Definitely don't know him."

Cameron hands him the folder. "The patient's eight."

That grabs his attention. Minutes later, the team is gathered in Diagnostics.

Foreman shakes his head. "Eight year olds do not have heart attacks. It's gotta be a mistake."

"Right. The simplest explanation is she's a forty-year-old lying about her age. Maybe an actress trying to hang on."

"I meant, maybe the tests were wrong."

Cameron sighs. "That's what the ER thought. Three CKMBs were positive, the EKG shows classic signs of ST elevation. It's a heart attack."

Chase scoffs. "She's morbidly obese. The "morbid" part of that raises alarms."

Foreman looks at him. "Come on, it takes decades to eat your way into a heart attack."

"Doesn't take decades to kill yourself. If I was that fat, I'd be pretty tempted to knock back a bottle of pills."

Cameron glares at him. "It's not a drug overdose. The fatigue, muscle pain, and difficulty concentrating have been bothering her for over a year."

Chase waves his arms. "That's because of her depression."

"That's what five pediatricians, two nutritionists, and a psychologist said. The heart attack would seem to indicate that they missed something."

Foreman bites the hollow of his cheek. "It's got to be something genetic."

Cameron takes a stab. "What about Metabolic Syndrome X?"

Chase looks up. "Insulin resistance?"

Foreman nods. "Syndrome X could cause a stroke, but I don't know about a heart attack."

House thinks about it. "Could, if her blood pressure was high enough."

Cameron jumps up. "Which is likely, considering her weight."

"It fits the symptoms. Me likee. Do a hyperinsulinemic euglycemic clamp." They get up to leave. _Damn, I might as well do this now…_ "Oh, and one more thing. I've been told that I've got to get rid of one of you guys by the end of the week. New sheriff, belt tightening, you know how it goes. Okay, carry on."

He goes into his office, leaving the three fellows staring back in shock.

Foreman speaks first. "It's some kind of game, House's own version of "Punk'd"."

Cameron looks like she wants to cry. "It's not House, it's Vogler. We can't let it get to us, we've got to stick together."

Chase stares at her. "Why?"

"What are you suggesting, we start slashing each other's throats?"

"I'm _suggesting_ it's a zero-sum game. Your loss is my win. That's not conducive to team play."

"Which is what House seems to want. I'm with Cameron. May be a bad strategy, but I don't want to give House his satisfaction. Come on, sick kid, remember?"

Shortly after, the three are in Jessica's hospital room.

"She's diabetic?" Her mom, Frankie, questions in alarm.

Cameron tilts her head. "No, but it's similar. MSX patients don't respond normally to insulin, which causes her body to create too much, which causes metabolic abnormalities. We're going to do a test to be sure, but there are certain dangers."

"Is this thing treatable?"

"It's controllable through proper diet and exercise."

"Wait. Jessica already eats right. And she exercises every day!"

"I know you've already seen several nutritionists –"

"And we've done everything they recommended."

"I understand, but –"

Frankie cuts off the fourteen-year-old in front of her. "Why can't any of you doctors see past her weight? If diet and exercise are the treatment, then the diagnosis is wrong."

"It might be, but the only way we'll know is if you'll let us do this test."

Two hours later, House is in the clinic with his patient: an overweight twenty-one-year-old college girl named Lucy. She's on the bed, explaining her pain while House watches from a stool.

"It's really bad, especially at night. It's like my heart is on fire, like it's, uh, oh, I don't know, like it's…"

"Burning?"

"Exactly!" Lucy snaps her fingers.

"Hmm, sounds almost like heartburn."

Her eyes brighten, hearing a name for it. "So, can you give me something?"

"Like a thesaurus?"

"What?"

"I take it you never mentioned this during any of your prenatal visits."

"Prenatal?" The twenty-one-year-old shakes her head. "I'm not pregnant."

"Sorry, you don't get to make that call unless you have a stethoscope. Union rules."

"I know when I'm pregnant, all right? I have six kids. A six-year-old, two five-year-olds, two four-year-olds, and a two year old. Four boys and two girls. That's why my husband had a vasectomy and we use condoms."

House shrugs. "Vasectomies can reverse themselves, condoms break."

"Okay." She hops off the table and gestures to herself. "This is what a woman is supposed to look like. Okay, we're not just skin and bones. We have flesh. We have curves."

"You have little people inside you." Lucy grabs her purse and heads to the door. _Oh, she is gonna go over my head. This does not bode well… but it'll give me something to focus on rather than firing someone._ "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I guess I must have just been brainwashed by the media, and all those years of medical training."

"Damn right."

"Let's see if I can find some antacids while the nurse gets some blood."

"Blood, why?"

"The heartburn, gotta make sure it's not spreading."

Another hour later, and Jessica standing in front of a scale.

"I don't want to."

Chase sighs. "The test involves some pretty precise measurements. If we don't know exactly how much you weigh, we won't get the right answers."

Foreman motions for Chase to move over, making a face that says _I've got this one covered._

"Tell you a secret. When I was your age, I was heavy, too."

"Were you over a hundred?" She asks, skeptical.

Foreman nods. "Way over. The kids in my neighborhood used to call me Rerun."

Jessica squints her eyes in confusion. "Rerun?"

"He was a heavy guy from TV. I used to pretend I liked it, but I didn't."

"How come you're not heavy any more?"

"Eighth grade, grew five inches, everything kind of evened out."

Jessica's eyes light up. "You think that'll happen to me?"

"Well, yeah! I mean, your mom's tall, and you are a little short for your age. You'll probably spring right up."

She steps on the scale. The doctors mark her weight down, along with a few other necessities. Twenty minutes later, they're entering Diagnostics.

"Obesity isn't something you just grow out of." Chase points out.

"Take it you've never seen a baby?"

"She's not a baby, she's eight!"

"And you figure making her feel like crap would do her a world of good?"

"Yeah, if it gets her off the couch!"

Cameron walks in. "I'm sure she's already under enough pressure."

"Not from mummy."

"Everything in society tells us we have to be thin to be successful."

"No, society tells you that you have to be thin to be attractive. And guess what, that's what attractive means: that society likes looking at you."

"I think we should be telling our kids it's fine as long as they're healthy."

"All right. You weigh ninety pounds because it makes you healthier?"

Foreman calls Chase out, speaking to Cameron. "Forget it. He's just cranky because he's the one who's going to get the axe."

As the three argue upstairs, House and Wilson are in line getting food in the cafeteria.

"So, any thoughts?"

"On what? Sharon's plan for Gaza?"

"Who you're gonna let go."

"I'm thinking I can convince Vogler it would be more cost-efficient to let me keep all of them."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you should be able to pull that off. Most billionaires aren't very good with numbers."

"It _will_ be more cost-efficient once I've grabbed Cameron's ass, called Foreman a spade, and Chase…" _I insult him all the time, I could just make out with him. He's pretty hot._ "Well, I can grab his ass, too."

Wilson shakes his head. "You are uniquely talented in many areas, but office politics is not one of them. Don't take Vogler on."

"Separate or together?" The cashier, Aggie, asks. She already knows the answer, though.

"Together."

House remarks, snatching the bag of chips off the top and limping away. Wilson is left to pay for lunch as House settles into a specific booth along the side of the canteen. Around two-thirty, House's lunch break is over. He and Wilsona re in their separate offices. The rest of the team is in Jessica's room, performing the test.

Chase stares at the monitor. "Increasing glucose to 6.9 milligrams per minute.

"Are you okay?" Frankie asks her daughter.

"I'm thirsty."

Cameron smiles consolingly. "Just a little bit longer, and you'll be done."

Foreman mutters under his breath, "Like Dr. Chase."

Chase glowers at the other teenager, muttering under _his_ breath. "Wanna put some money on it?"

"I said I'm thirsty." Jessica repeats herself, with a bit of an edge.

Cameron shares a glance with the girl's mom. "Just five more minutes, okay, sweetheart?"

Jessica growls then. "I'm not your sweetheart, don't call me that."

Frankie is shocked. "Jessica, that's not nice."

"You're the ones who aren't nice."

"Jessica…"

Jessica yells, trying to sit up. "You're not either! I don't want to do this anymore!"

She successfully rips off the nasal prongs to help her breathe. The girl starts flailing on the bed, causing the machines to beep wildly.

Frankie is alert at her daughter's side. "Jessica! Jessica, you have to calm down!"

"Let me go!" She screeches.

Cameron looks around at the other two. "She's gotta be getting hypoglycemic."

Frankie is close to tears. "What's wrong?"

Chase tries to pin her arms down but fails. "Hey, calm down!"

"Let go of me! Get it out of me, you son of a bitch! Bastards!"

Later, at four o'clock, Jessica is sleeping peacefully. The doctors are in the hallway with Frankie Simms, watching Jessica sleep from the window.

"She's sedated. Mrs. Simms, don't worry." Foreman rubs the back of his head. "Hypoglycemia can cause temporary psychosis and it's a common complication during a HEC procedure."

"I never wanted it done in the first place."

Chase purses his lips. "We understand you're upset, but –"

Frankie shakes her head. "You were supposed to be monitoring her condition. but instead you were bickering and placing bets like silly teenagers."

"I apologize if we weren't paying full ateighttion to your daughter, but I assure you that –"

"Oh, please. Save your pathetic insincerity for your boyfriend."

"You're wrong." House walks up, gesturing to Cameron. "She is, in fact, pathetically sincere. And they didn't screw it up."

Frankie shifts slightly. "Who are you?"

 _Yeah… no._ "I'm from the lab. The blood tests showed your daughter wasn't hypoglycemic, which means her psychosis wasn't caused by anything these doctors did."

"So then what was it caused by?"

"I have no idea, but you'll be happy to hear it can't be cured by diet or exercise."

Twenty minutes later, House enters the Diagnostic office, with the ducklings trailing behind him.

"What else could cause uncontrollable rage in a eight-year-old?"

Foreman doesn't know. "Nothing that could also cause a heart attack."

House starts to write on the whiteboard. "I assume I don't have to point out that now would be an extremely good time for one of you to distinguish yourself with a brilliant idea."

Chase shrugs. "A hypercoaguable state could cause a blood clot. Blood clots can cause a heart attack."

Cameron looks over. "More likely to cause a stroke, not the psychosis."

"No, you're wrong. If the clot made it to the amygdala area of the brain, it might cause uncontrollable rage."

"Right, because anything's possible, but nothing's going to cause multiple clots in a kid this age."

"She's fat!"

Cameron glares at him and huffs. "Obesity doesn't cause blood clots."

"Extremely obese patients can get a fat embolus."

"Right, after they get liposuction which she's clearly never had."

"How do you know?"

"Because we have her medical records. And because no plastic surgeon in his right mind is going to give a eight-year-old liposuction!"

"Have you ever met a plastic surgeon who was in their right mind?"

Cameron looks really pissed. House glares at them.

"She hasn't had liposuction."

"Thank you."

"But what about some other ridiculous obesity treatment?"

"Like what?" Foreman interjects.

"Diet pills can cause heart attacks and blood clots."

Cameron denies. "Her tox screen was negative."

"Wouldn't show over-the-counter weight loss drugs."

"Her mother wouldn't give her diet pills."

Chase sarcastically chortles. "Yeah, she thinks her daughter's perfect just the way she is."

House nods. "She's lying. Okay, you two, heparin and warfarin to prevent further clotting. And you," He stares at Foreman. "Find those pills."

It's six o'clock when House is in his office, taking a couple Vicodin. Foreman enters, and House shakes his bottle.

"Not diet pills. You might want to broaden the search just a little. And don't just ask the mom, if she hasn't mentioned yet, she's not gonna –"

Foreman cuts him off. "If you're gonna fire someone, go ahead and do it, but don't treat us like lab rats, testing how long it takes us to get us at one another's throats."

"So what should I do?"

"I don't give a damn what you do."

 _Yeah, well, you're a damn good doctor. Cam's in love with me, and Chase is hot._ "Yes, I had noticed your complete indifference. You don't even offer a medical opinion any more. Who would you fire?"

"Not my call."

"I want your opinion." Foreman starts to leave, and House scoffs. "Fine, it's you." That proclamation causes Foreman to turn around. "Either way, you're making a choice."

"Chase."

House is slightly puzzled as to why. "Wh- Because he screwed up an angio a month ago?"

"Anyone can make a mistake."

"Right, it's the money. You resent it, but you're going to tell me he doesn't need the job."

"He doesn't appreciate the job."

"He was ready to go three rounds with Cameron for it."

"He wants the job. He just doesn't _appreciate_ it. There's nothing wrong with just wanting to hang out, but this is not the place to do it."

"I'm surprised."

"You thought I'd pick Cameron?"

House raises his eyebrows. "I didn't think you'd pick at all."

Several hours later, House and Wilson are leaving the elevator.

"I guess he's not the "rise above the fray" guy he likes to think he is."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "You practically forced it out of him."

"He's scared of losing his job, just like everyone else."

"I've been thinking. You've made it quite clear that you're miserable here –"

"I am not miserable." House spits out as they enter the clinic.

Wilson tries again. "You're not happy."

House scoffs. "And you are?"

 _Well, not at home. Not really with Julie. Not with all the pressures._ "With… my job, yes."

House reads his friend. "I am exactly where I want to be doing exactly what I want to do."

"I think I sense a hint of sarcasm there. Why don't you pick yourself? Quit?"

House looks at some charts, not hearing Wilson's last bit. "Hmmm… I was wrong."

"About Vogler or Foreman?"

"Mrs. Hernandez's pregnancy tests."

"Who's Mrs. Hernandez?"

"Either a twenty-one-year-old woman carrying an alien baby or your newest patient."

Wilson grabs the chart and looks it over. There's something growing in the woman's stomach. House's proclamation of an alien baby is made by her saying earlier that she isn't pregnant. When Wilson looks back up, House is gone. Wilson makes his way to the front doors in time to see the corvette speed around the nearly empty parking lot. Wilson looks at the check out page and sees his name before running out in desperation. House was Wilson's ride this morning. Just as Wilson begins to dial Julie's number, though, the corvette makes its way back to the doors.

"Didn't think I'd leave you, did you?"

Wilson grins, despite himself, and climbs in. House expertly drives and drops Wilson off, reminding him to be ready in the morning. He drives himself to the apartment, grabbing a beer from the fridge and slumping into the couch cushions. He flicks on the television, not really watching anything as he attempts to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning at nine-thirty, Jessica's teacher's – Miss Ayers – class is at rotation. Foreman is talking with the woman in the empty classroom as she gets ready for the next lesson.

"So, you never saw her with any pills? She never mentioned anything?"

"No, of course not."

"Would it be all right if I talked to a couple of her friends?"

"Her friends?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm not going to interrogate them, but I just want to ask if Jessica ever mentioned anything. It's pretty important, she's very sick."

"I understand, it's just, well, Jessica really doesn't have any friends."

Foreman stills. "Not one?"

"I've tried to help, make the kids include her more, but kids can be –"

"Kids?"

"Heh, I was going to say jerks." She pauses as the bell rings. "All the third-graders are assigned an eighth-grade buddy. Maybe you could talk to hers."

At ten-thirty, Vogler and Cuddy are by the clinic main desk.

"What's the status on House?"

"He asked for time to complete performance reviews on everyone in his department."

"And you told him no and gave him how long?"

"A week. He'll do it."

Cameron starts to walk up, lagging only to some extent as she reaches the other side of the desk.

"Guy's never done what he's told. Don't see why he's going to start now." Vogler ends the conversation and walks over to talk to Cameron, who is dealing with clinic folders. "Hi, Edward Vogler. Is Dr. House claiming that I'm forcing him to get rid of one of you? I assume his goal is to stir up antagonism toward me."

The fourteen-year-old glances over to him. "And your goal is?"

"I am forcing him. I'll do whatever I can to ease the transition for whoever he chooses."

"If you're feeling guilty about your decision, there is an easy solution."

"I don't feel guilty."

"Then why approach me and tell me all this?"

"I don't feel guilty, that doesn't mean I don't feel bad. I'm rich, but I'm still human." He smiles. "I just wanted you to know that if there's anything I can do for you, my door's open."

Cameron gives him a skeptical look. "Thank you."

Cameron walks away, and Cuddy confronts Vogler.

"You looking for info? Thought you already had House all figured out?"

"I do. Don't know his team, though." He sighs and walks off.

Yet another two hours pass, and Wilson and House are in the exam room with a sad-looking twenty-one-year-old Lucy.

Wilson moves closer to her. "The ultrasound and biopsy confirmed our worry. The tumor is extremely large, at least thirty pounds."

"Oh, God."

"It's actually a personal record for this clinic." House shrugs.

Wilson gives House a _you're not helping_ kind of look. "But it's completely benign, there's no sign of cancer at all. I've already spoken with Dr. Bergin, and he's available first thing in the morning."

"For what?" She asks offhandedly.

House and Wilson look a little puzzled at this. Wilson is the first to say something. "For the surgery."

Lucy frowns. "But if it's not cancer, it can't kill me, right?"

Wilson looks to House for help, but he's keeping his mouth shut on this one "…No."

"I'll have a huge scar!" She pouts. "I won't be able to wear a bikini!"

"You wear a bikini now?" House lets it slip.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

House looks away. "Nope, but I've never gone swimming with you."

Lucy narrows her eyes at the two doctors. "I knew it. _That's_ what this is all about! You are trying to force me to have cosmetic surgery!"

House rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly why I planted a thirty pound tumor on your ovary."

Lucy folds her arms defiantly. "It's not gonna kill me." House and Wilson share an _are you hearing what I'm hearing?_ kind of look. "The only thing surgery is going to do is change the way I look. That is the definition of "cosmetic surgery"."

Wilson blinks a few times. "Uh, it would also relieve your heartburn and discomfort."

Lucy scoffs. "Yeah, right. Why give an antacid when you can cut someone up and make them look a little easier on your eyes?" She hops off the table, grabs her purse, and sort of saunters to House. "My husband loves my body. He can't get enough of it." She gestures at herself and Wilson can't help it – he's checking her out. "You think he's gonna want to touch me if I look like I've been gutted like a fish?" She leaves, slamming the door behind her.

 _What the hell was that?_ "That was unexpected." Wilson finally speaks.

 _Bad Wilson. Checking out a patient while you're engaged to the screaming harpy._ House nods. "Yeah, it was."

When they can finally move again, they notice it's nearing one o'clock. Just in time for their lunch break. Meanwhile, Foreman is talking to Jessica's eighth-grade 'buddy' Clementine.

"All she does during recess is run laps around the playground. She says she's exercising, but everyone knows it's just because no one wants to play with her. I mean, I'm only her buddy because Ms. Ayers assigned her to me. That does not mean I am her friend."

"I'll make sure her doctors are all clear on that."

"Thanks."

"So, has she ever said anything to you about diet pills?"

"Heh, she told you that, too."

"What do you mean?"

"I totally busted her for taking drugs one day. She totally lied, said they were diet pills her mom had given her. Come on, get real. No way a girl like that is taking diet pills."

Back at the hospital, it is a quarter till two o'clock. Foreman talking to Jessica's mom in Jessica's room while the eight-year-old is asleep. Frankie is outraged at the claim.

"I didn't give her diet pills, I would never do that!"

"Right, so it was her imaginary mom."

"She didn't take any pills, the girl's lying!"

"Why would she lie?"

"Because she's another mean little jerk?" Frankie raises her voice.

Jessica speaks out, letting them know she's no longer asleep. "Mom."

"I'm sorry, honey." She apologizes, quieter.

"Clemmie didn't lie. I did. I took the pills. I told her you gave them to me 'cause I didn't want to get in trouble."

Foreman moves closer. "Where did you get them?"

"I took them. From the store."

Frankie starts crying. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"Because I didn't want to be ugly anymore."

"Oh, baby. You're not ugly."

"Yes, I am! I know you don't think so, but I am! I'm disgusting."

"Jessica, please, don't say that." Frankie begs.

"I just, just wanted to fit in. You know, have friends? Or at least have one person my age be nice to me." Frankie and Jessica are both crying now.

"Limelight, the pills cause blood clots, heart attacks, and insomnia. It explains everything. We'll keep her overnight to make sure, but she'll be fine."

"Thank you." Frankie whispers.

At two-forty-five, the team is gathered in Diagnostics.

Cameron sighs. "I can't believe she was that desperate."

House brings in his sarcastic misery voice. "Yeah, I'm sure that if everyone I knew hated me, I couldn't bear to look at me. I wouldn't go so far as to shoplift."

"I'm not talking about the shoplifting."

Foreman tries to console her. "I'm sure she didn't even know they were dangerous. She probably saw them advertised on TV or over the internet."

"Right, so I guess it's the media and pharmaceutical companies' fault now?" Chase asks as he hands House a cup of coffee. House is puzzled at this gesture of sucking up. "Not the fact that she can't stop shoving food down her throat. No one forced her to get fat."

"No one forced a cancer patient to get cancer."

"Give me a break, it's not a disease."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "Have you seen the latest research?"

"Yes, I have. What I haven't seen lately is a kid eating an apple or riding a bike. You Americans can't even compete with the rest of the world in basketball anymore, unless, of course, it's the type you play with a remote control on a big screen TV."

"Right." Foreman gets up and starts to walk off.

House stutters after. "W-Wait! Are you going to let him say that? He insulted our basketball teams!"

Foreman's beeper beeps, followed by Chase's, Cameron's and finally House's. The ducklings race down the hall. House limps behind them, not attempting to go nearly as quick.

"Oh, my God! Mommy, they hurt so bad!" Jessica squeals, doubling over in the bed.

Foreman enters first. "What happened?"

"Please help me!"

"She's bleeding!" Frankie supplies.

"From where?" Cameron demands to know.

"Oh, my god!" Jessica screams in pain again. Cameron lifts the neck of Jessica's gown to reveal open, bleeding lesions on her chest. "Just please stop it, please!"

It is three-fifteen, and the team is standing in front of the whiteboard. House is leaning on the side of it, and "skin necrosis" has been added.

Cameron grumbles, "Diet pills don't cause skin necrosis.'

"Could be something related to the pills." Chase offers.

"Or not."

"Or both." House shakes his head. "Diet pills brought her to us, we gave her the sores."

Foreman backs up. "You think she got a staph infection from something here?"

"I'm not saying the hospital gave the sores, I'm saying we did. By treating her. Warfarin-induced skin necrosis."

Cameron denies this. "Highly unlikely. We started her on heparin before the warfarin."

"Who gave her the heparin?"

Chase cuts in for clarification. "I gave warfarin, she gave heparin."

"Sure you didn't both give her warfarin?"

Cameron stares at Chase from the corner of her eye. "Yes, I did not screw up."

House looks to Chase "Did you actually see her prepare and administer the heparin?" After a pregnant pause, he nods. "Enough said."

Cameron scowls. "You were standing _right_ _there_."

"I was preparing my own dose."

"Yeah, right. There's gotta be some other cause."

"None that I can think of. Let's fix the mistake. Give her unfractionated IV heparin and low molecular weight heparin by subcutaneous injection stat."

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman leave into the hallway. They stop between the lounge and Wilson's office. Cameron slaps Chase's arm.

"Making me look bad is not going to save your job."

"You think you're incapable of making a mistake?'

"You think that I am that weak that I am just going to roll over and take this?"

"House isn't just going to protect you because you kiss his ass!"

"Vogler wants to know what _he_ can do for _me_."

House growls seeing them gossiping in the hall. He moves a little closer and shouts out the door. "Hey! Stop worrying about your asses and start worrying about the patient's."

At four o'clock, Foreman is taking a sample from Jessica's lesions. Vogler enters.

"She sleeping?"

 _Great. Just what I need._ "As a result of the sedatives, yeah. Can't let her wake up, too much pain."

Vogler looks at a clipboard. ""Warfarin-induced skin necrosis". I have no idea what that means. But it says here we gave her the warfarin, and I do know what "induced" means… we did this?"

"At this point it's not exactly clear. You know, I should probably talk to Dr. House."

"Oh, you two need time to get your story straight."

 _Excuse me?_ "He doesn't tell me what to do."

"So you don't just blindly follow his commands. You're your own man. And yet, here you are working for a man you can't stand."

 _I never said that._ "I respect him."

"What exactly is it you respect? His attitude toward humanity? He thinks we're all idiots and liars. How 'bout his attitude toward you, plays with you like a cat with a ball of string –"

 _Okay, now I see why House is a bigger ass to him. Now I see why Chase is clawing at our throats._ "What do you want?"

"I want to know if you want to keep your job."

"If he chooses to let me go, I can live with that."

"That's not an answer."

Foreman scoffs. "You offering to protect me?"

"Still not an answer."

"I want my job."

Chase enters, and Vogler nods to him. "Dr. Chase."

"Boss." Vogler leaves, and Chase turns to Foreman. "What was that about?"

"Wanted to know what warfarin is. I don't know."

Meanwhile, House enters pathology. Cameron is there. He stares at her through the glass, but she keeps concentrating at her microscope.

"Brrrr. Icy. Definitely think twice before correcting one of your mistakes again."

Cameron is still looking through her microscope, but her voice is wavering. "Correct all you want. Of course, it's a bit more productive if there's an actual mistake."

Ah, shit. Is she crying? "Right, I always forget that part."

"I gave her the heparin, which means the necrosis is not a reaction to the warfarin, which is probably why she's not responding to your treatment."

"Yet. If you didn't screw up, then what is it? You don't have an answer."

"Yet."

"When you come up with something, let me know. I'll be in the clinic, warming up."

Cameron turns to look at him. "I'm the only one who's always stood behind you when you've screwed up."

 _Okay. Not crying. Was crying._ "Why? Why would you support someone who screws up?"

"Because I'm not insanely insecure. And because I can actually trust in another human being and I am not an angry, misanthropic son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry, you said you _weren't_ angry. Who would you fire?"

"No one."

"Not an option."

She shakes her head. "If everyone took a pay cut and put in a few more hours we could all stay for the same amount of money."

"Figures you'd try and come up with a solution where no one gets hurt. The problem is, the world doesn't work that way just 'cause you want it to."

"Figures you'd stall and refuse to deal with the issue. Problem is, the world doesn't go away just because you want it to."

House leaves, and Cameron goes back to her microscope. House groans as he enters the clinic and grabs a clipboard. He walks into an exam room and scowls as he finally reads the name of the patient. Mr. Lionel Hernandez.

Lionel stands up. "Excuse me, Dr. House? My wife saw you yesterday, Lucy Hernandez?"

"Uh, he's not in today." House grabs the door handle.

"My wife said he walked with a cane."

"He's also got a bit of a drug problem. Sometimes doesn't show up for weeks." House steps out and immediately walks into Cuddy's office.

Cuddy had been speaking to Vogler about the rented MRIs when she notices House. "Did you make a decision?"

Vogler rolls his eyes. "He's not gonna fire anybody."

"Yes. I'm going to cut the pay of all four of us. Seventeen percent across the board will allow you to keep us all for the same amount of money. I believe it's what you suits call "win-win"."

Cuddy nods. "All right, if you can –"

"No."

Cuddy turns to Vogler. "If he can work it so we can keep the current staff for the same amount of money, what difference does it make?"

House narrows his eyes. "It's not about the money."

"This is not a negotiation, it never was. I need to know that whatever I ask you to do, no matter how distasteful you find it, you'll do it. And just as importantly, you need to know that."

Cuddy sighs, and House leaves, slamming the door behind him. Unfortunately, Lionel confronts him on the way out.

"What's going on with my wife?"

House growls at him. "Even if I _was_ Dr. House, physician-patient confidentiality protects me from annoying conversations." He walks away.

"But she told me about the tumor." Lionel follows him out the clinic.

"Yeah? She also tell you why she's refusing to have it removed?"

"I don't care about a scar. And she can always gain the weight back."

"You want her to regain the weight?"

"Yeah. I mean, only if she wants to."

"Why?"

"I've always thought she's looked sexiest when she was pregnant." House looks slightly disturbed at the confession. "Something 'bout knowing she's a mother makes me want to –"

House cuts him off. "Yeah, tell her that and leave me alone."

"I did. You gotta talk to her, I couldn't bear it if something happened to her –"

"The tumor is benign, nothing's gonna happen. Except maybe some more heartburn."

"What if it gets even bigger? Or if it changes?"

"You know where to find us. Building's not going anywhere."

"Tell her it's cancer." House pushes the elevator button. "You obviously don't have a problem with lying."

House rolls his eyes. "Oh, way to win me over."

Lionel takes out wallet of pictures. "We have six kids. Six-year-old Daisy, five-year-olds Zachary and Vincent, four-year-olds Colin and Jessica, and two-year-old Wendell. She can't afford to take a chance."

"You have kids! How novel! That changes everything. So if Mommy has heartburn, one of them might catch on fire."

"Please, I don't know what we'd do."

House takes the pictures, looking over the kids. "They are cute. Have her come back in."

"What?"

"Your plight has moved me." The elevator dings, and House steps in. "Tell your wife to come back."

At five-thirty, House enters Diagnostics. Wilson and the ducklings are chatting about the case, surrounded around the table. Foreman is the first of the ducklings to speak up.

"Her necrosis is getting worse."

Cameron sighs. "Maybe because we're treating her for the wrong thing."

"Have you found the right thing?" House hopes for an actual answer.

"No."

"Then we continue the treatment. Hope it's just taking longer than it should."

"At this point it doesn't matter what caused the necrosis." Wilson finally says something.

"Or who."

"If we don't stop it from spreading it will kill her before the end of the day."

Foreman eyes the oncologist. "What else can we do?"

"Get rid of it. Remove the dying flesh before it penetrates the abdominal wall."

House nods. "Do it."

Minutes later, Foreman and Wilson are talking to the mom.

"There's still a chance that the heparin treatment could start to take effect." Foreman acknowledges.

Wilson smiles a bit. "We're gonna wait as long as we can, but if there's no change in the next few hours, we're gonna have to treat the symptoms directly."

Frankie looks between the two teenagers expectantly. "So you can get rid of the sores."

Foreman nods. "Through surgery. Technically, it's an amputation."

"Amputation? But the sores are –"

Wilson looks at his shoes before returning his gaze to the patient's mom. "Warfarin-induced necrosis attacks fatty tissue, mainly in the breasts."

"Wait, are you talking about cutting off my daughter's breasts? She's eight years old!"

"A radical mastectomy may be her only chance of survival." Wilson winces.

Foreman groans, handing over a clipboard. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to sign this."

Three hours later, at a quarter after eight o'clock, House is looking pictures of Jessica's sores on his computer. Cameron enters.

"Can we talk?"

"What, no roses, no chocolates? If you're here to apologize –"

"I'm not here to apologize."

"Uh-oh, that means you're here for something more complicated." He groans melodramatically as he takes a couple Vicodin.

"Do you want to fire me?"

"Yes. I was just waiting for an excuse. Thank God Vogler came along. Phew!"

Cameron ignores the sarcastic remark. "It's the only reason I can think of that you're insisting that I made a mistake."

"Really? Because there is another explanation." He stands up. "Perhaps not as much fun as your Freudian analysis, but maybe you actually made a mistake."

"You're doing this because you can't deal with your feelings for me." She takes a step closer.

 _My feelings for you? You're sorta attractive but half the time you look like a grade-schooler. You whine and cry over every aspect of the job. You can't talk to the patients about bad news. Why the hell are you here? You never understand my sports metaphors and it always feels like you're trying to undermine me. To change me._ "I believe that you are the only one to express feelings. And if we're going to look at this from a first-year psych point-of-view, maybe you want me to fire you. Maybe that's why you're acting weird. You –"

"You're the one being different!" She yelps. "You're always pushing things, pushing the rules, pushing us, but not this time. You just jumped on this idea like a life raft. Not one question about what else it could be, no riding us for other answers."

"I have the answer."

"Then why aren't you watching TV? Or playing your damn Game Boy, or whatever else you have fun doing by yourself? Maybe I should just quit. Make it easy for everyone."

 _Fine. Quit. Abandon me. Like Stacey. Like almost virtually every possible friendship that's ever come close. Quit._ "Maybe you should."

Cameron leaves, making the door shake behind her. She leaves the hospital sometime later. House is paged to the twenty-four-hour clinic at ten o'clock. Only one nurse is working down there. Brenda. She doesn't care much for House. Smirking, she hands him the file and gestures him to exam room one. Inside, he sits on the table. Lucy is pacing nervously around the room.

"Men are pigs." He finally says.

Lucy stops. "You call me in to tell me –"

"I should have realized the vasectomy and condoms was overkill, but this was too obvious." He holds up Lionel's photos. "Cute kids. Love her green eyes. And his baby blues. Of course, since you and your husband have brown eyes…"

She gasps, pointing to the wallet-szied photos of her children. "Where'd you get that?"

"From the father of two, maximum three of your six children. So I'm thinking maybe the reason you don't want surgery is, while your husband may find you attractive no matter what, all the other men you're sleeping with might not be so open-minded. Which brings me back to my original thesis: men are pigs. You got nothing to worry about. You know, pretty much have sex with anyone, fat, skinny, married, single, complete strangers, relatives –"

She quickly snatches at the photos but fails. "You? You're sick."

"So are you. I'm sure there are websites full of men looking for married women with surgical scars." He hands her back the pictures. "So have the surgery. Please?"

Lucy nods. "Okay."

House leaves. At seven a.m. the following morning, Chase enters Vogler's office.

"Why have you been talking to Cameron?"

"Well, if House picks you I'll be needing a new source in that room."

"If he picks me?"

"Sure. Foreman's smarter, House has got a thing for Cameron."

"I've been feeding you information so you'll protect me."

"I will protect you as long as I need you. And you will feed me information as long as you need me. I spoke with Cameron because if I have alternatives, I don't need you."

"She's not gonna rat on House."

"Foreman ever said anything about talking to me?" Chase gapes at him. "Interesting."

Three hours later, House is looking into Jessica's room. Chase and Foreman walk up.

"It's been over twelve hours, still no change in her condition."

Foreman nods. "I think we should get her into surgery."

Chase looks at House. "So what do you want to do?"

"Assume that Cameron didn't screw up. What if it's not the warfarin?"

"It has to be. The sores presented right after we –"

"Right, right, right, but let's just say it's not. Come on, come on, what have you got?"

Foreman holds up a wavering hand. "Can I have a second to think?"

"No, there's no time to think! Say the first thing that comes to you head."

"She's fat."

Foreman glares at him. "Enough already, okay? We've got it, you hate fat people."

"That's not what I meant."

House shakes his head. "We already considered obesity as a cause."

"So did all her other doctors."

"No, what if it's not a cause? What if it's a symptom?"

"Okay, so what could cause obesity and skin necrosis? Listen, I don't care if it makes sense, just give me something."

"Ulcers secondary to vaculitis." Foreman pulls something out.

"No, that's just sores, not obesity."

"Pyoderma gangrenosum?" Chase opts.

"More sores. Okay, let's look at it from the other side. What has obesity as a symptom?"

"Hypothyroidism?" The Aussie tries again.

Foreman doesn't like that. "Genetics are more likely. Her mom's heavy, too."

"She's not just heavy. She's tall. We have any history on the dad?"

Chase nods. "Yeah. 6'1"."

"Kid's short. We've got stunted growth, high blood pressure, blood clots, obesity – it's Cushing's."

Chase shakes his head. "No, necrosis doesn't present in –"

House cuts him off. "In rare cases Cushing's can cause hypercalcemia, which can lead to the same skin necrosis as warfarin. It's perfect. It explains everyting."

"Except it's not Cushing's." Foreman starts pacing. "She's had multiple blood tests and none show abnormal cortisol levels."

"The hypercortisolism could be cyclical, we just didn't catch it in the right phase."

Chase recoils. "We'll have to do another UFC."

"There's no time! We've got less than an hour to make the call."

"If we treat for Cushing's and we're wrong, she's dead."

Foreman adds on. "If we assume it's not Cushing's, she'll lose her breasts and may still be sick."

"Do an MRI."

Foreman stares back incredulously. "You want us to look for hypercortisolism with an MRI?"

"No, I want you to look for what could _cause_ hypercortisolism with an MRI."

Thirty minutes later, Jessica is in the MRI machine.

"Nothing on the adrenals." Foreman scans through the imaging. "Heard Cameron went home, she sick?"

"Go back to the pituitary views. She seemed okay."

"Think she's got another reason for leaving?"

"I hope so. Wait, stop. There." He points to a black spot on the MRI. "What's that?"

"Shit. That's a tumor."

"Shit." Chase agrees. "It's Cushing's."

Not long after, Foreman is talking to Jessica's mom.

"The tumor causes Cushing's. Cushing's messes with hormone production. Hormones control everything: growth, weight –"

"Can you fix it?"

"She'll need surgery to remove the tumor. Once it's gone, everything will get normal very fast."

"No mastectomy?"

"No."

Frankie runs a hand through her hair. "Thank God."

"The surgery's dangerous. The pituitary is located between the caverns of the sinuses, basically right between the eyes. The area contains the nerves that control eye movement and the major arteries that feed the brain."

"Oh, my God."

"Your surgeon will approach the gland transphenoidally. An incision will be made under the lip in which he'll insert a fiberoptic microscope. Once the tumor's found, he'll cut it into small pieces and remove it from the same hole under the lip. The whole procedure should take about three hours and your daughter should be able to go home in a few days. The sores will go away, as well as her fatigue and her muscle pain. She'll even start losing weight."

Jessica goes under surgery in less than an hour. Close to two o'clock, Frankie nervously meets the surgeon in the hall. He's smiling as he talks to her, and she gives him a hug. Around six o'clock, Jessica is being wheeled out of the hospital. Foreman sees her by the door, and gives her a hug. Days later, on the sixteenth, Jessica is in an exam room in the clinic, sitting on a table and much thinner than she was previously. The ducklings walk in.

"Jessica." Foreman smiles.

"Hi."

"Is that really you?" Cameron is in awe.

"Yeah, it's me."

Chase starts checking her out, needing to remind himself of the nearly eight year difference – and that she's yet to hit double digits. "You look fantastic!"

Frankie walks over, giving her daughter a quick squeeze. "She always looked fantastic."

"Yeah." Foreman agrees and Jessica smiles.

Meanwhile, House enters his office. Cuddy and Vogler are standing inside of it.

"Your time is up." Cuddy announces.

"Uh-huh. Where have you guys been?"

"Who is it?"

"Chase."

Vogler denies this. "No, Chase stays. Pick someone else."

"The deal was –"

"Deal's changed. Pick someone else."

"No."

"Pick someone else or it'll be the whole department."

He leaves. Cuddy gives him an _I don't know what's up, either_ look, and leaves too. Vogler storms down the hallway. Cuddy hurries after him. They walk by Chase, who keeps his head down until they pass. Cameron is busy editing her CV. As Cuddy and Vogler come out of the elevator, they walk past Foreman, who turns to look at them before returning to his birthday phone call with his girlfriend. Back in his office, House simply twirls his cane, positively pissed.

 **Alright! I'm writing this for ya'll on top of tons of other things going on in my life. This is my favorite source of creativity outlet. It's 1:43 in the morning now. This'll be uploaded soon. Byes!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey, there. I'm listening to 80s music on a CD behind me. I slept in today since I've just been so busy as of late. Speaking of, sorry i'm late again this week. This is finally an off-day. Nothing much doing today. This is difficult because I just really don't like Vogler and I don't like writing about him. Plus I hate the canon of the sort, that Chase is the snitch. Let's see… now it's April 23rd. Exactly a week since the last. House and Cuddy are 19; Wilson is still 18; Foreman is 16 now; Chase is still 15, and Cameron is still 14. I have their generic birthdays mapped down. Without further ado, Here's 1.17 – Role Model.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim**

House is in Vogler's office, listening but not really paying attention to his boss's boss.

"The Senator's suffering from nausea, headache, and mental confusion."

"Yeah, bad sushi is _so hard_ to diagnose."

"You're being childish. Look, if his case is as trivial as you think it'll take you three minutes to diagnose him."

"Uh huh, three minutes that I could spend sitting on the toilet with the funny pages." House stands up annoyed.

"You're mad at me."

House opens the door. "Nope. I never liked Cameron or Foreman."

"Do you know why I'm forcing you to fire one of them? Because you need to prove to me that you're a team player. Now, if you did that, you wouldn't need to go through this exercise."

House rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'll hold the Senator's hair while he upchucks."

As House is leaving, Vogler shouts up to him. "Oh, and by the way, I need you to give a speech at the National Cardiology Conference. In two weeks."

"I don't do speeches. I'm shy."

"Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals has developed a new ACE inhibitor. I would like you to extol the virtues of this breakthrough medication."

"Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals… wait a second, don't I own that company? Oh, no, that's right, you do."

"Viopril is a significant improvement over the old version. All there in the study." He hands House a booklet of information.

"I know its price tag is significantly improved."

Vogler sighs. "You can either give one ten minute talk and one three minute diagnosis or you can fire one of your pets. My understanding was that you believed in rationality above all else."

House grabs the Viopril information along with the Senator's chart, muttering to himself as he leaves. "Viopril…"

An hour later, at ten o'clock, House and Foreman are checking out Senator Wright. Technically, Foreman's checking. House is playing on his Nintendo.

"I appreciate your keeping the media way."

Foreman nods. "We're keeping your staff away as well. You're taking it easy, now."

"I'm in the middle of a campaign."

"The faster we can get you better, the faster you can get out of here. Anyone else at the fundraiser get sick?"

"I don't think so. And I don't think that's it, I've been under the weather for weeks, you know. Lots of traveling, supposed to be in the Sudan next week."

Beeps are heard from the corner, namely, from House's gameboy. When House notices the senator watching him, he puts down the game system and pulls out his bottle of Vicodin. "Helps me concentrate. Even better than drugs." He pops one as well.

Foreman ignores House. "Open your mouth, please." Senator Wright does, and there's a nasty scar on his tongue. "That's quite a scar."

"When I was six, I fell off the swings and bit my tongue. Couldn't talk right for the longest time. Lots of teasing. But, you know, it just made me fight harder, speak up for those who can't."

House nods from his seat. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tongues heal too fast. Your political consultants have written you a nice story. In a tight race the lispers alone could put you over the top."

"You a Republican, or you just hate all politicians?"

"I just find being forced to sit through drivel annoying."

Senator Wright nods in clarity. "You find sincerity annoying."

"You're a black kid from the ghetto who made it to Yale Law and the United States Senate. That's a sufficiently mythical story, you don't need to lie about your tongue." Foreman ignores House as he checks the Senator's reflexes; the left leg was okay, but the right didn't move. "Must have missed it."

"What's wrong?" The senator questions as House tests the reflexes himself. There's no change. "What is it?"

"It's not the food. It's your brain." He eyes Foreman. "Get an MRI and a lumbar puncture." His attention then pools to Wright. "Cancel your travel plans."

At eleven-thirty, Cameron, Chase, Foreman and House are in the lab.

Foreman is cnfused. "The LP showed no sign of infection and the MRI was fairly clean."

"I guess we can tell him he's fairly healthy and can go home."

"Well, there is something in Broca's area, but it's small, low intensity."

Chase agrees. "Most likely just background nose."

"Care to bet your job on that?" Chase makes a sour face. "What was that?"

"What was what?" He raises an eyebrow.

"You got annoyed. That was clearly an annoyed face."

"I get annoyed by glib remarks about our futures."

"But last week you didn't get annoyed, you made poopie in your pants. It's weird, it's almost like now you know you have nothing to worry about."

Cameron hitches her breath. "Chase has nothing to worry about?"

"None of you has anything to worry about."

"What happened?"

"Vogler saw the error of his ways and repented. The lesion could be nothing. It could also be a brain tumor or infection. There's only one way to find out which."

Foreman stares at him. "You wanna cut into his brain."

"Dangerous, I know. Especially as he's a politician, his brain's all twisted. But I weighed that against the risk of him stroking out before lunch. Call surgery, get it scheduled."

He leaves. Close to noon, he's in the clinic, performing an ultrasound on Sarah, a blond twenty-five-year-old.

"You're not pregnant." He hands her some tissues.

"Well, I told you that. But there's gotta be some other reason I'm still spotting."

"Sure. You _were_ pregnant. Based on your hormone levels, you had a miscarriage."

Sarah stares back. "I haven't even been on a date."

House charts his readings. "Right, since it's physically impossible to have sex without someone buying you dinner."

"I haven't had sex since I split up with my husband. That was almost a year ago."

"Fine, have it your way. Immaculate conception."

"Um, what do I do?"

"Well, it's obvious. Start a religion."

He leaves the room. As he walks out, Cuddy storms past him. "In my office."

House whispers conspiratorially to the clinic nurse, Hannah. "Afternoon delight. She just loves the hard wood." House taps his cane to the floor and enters Cuddy's office.

"You're not doing a brain biopsy on a spot on a MRI." She commands, holding up an imaging film.

"Where'd you get that?"

" _Not_ on an United States Senator."

"Oh, just so I'm clear, if he was a janitor, that would be okay. Do you have a list?"

"A brain biopsy can cause permanent neurological damage."

"Uh huh, whereas tumors are really good for brains, make 'em grow big and strong. It's my call."

"No, it's not."

House glares at her. "You're pulling rank on patient care?"

"It's not my call, either."

Twenty minutes later, Cuddy and House confronting Senator Wright in a hospital bed.

"It's up to you."

"Either it's a tumor or it's an infection that the lumbar puncture didn't pick up. Either way, if we don't treat it immediately, it could kill you."

"Or it could be nothing. Reading brain MRIs is not an exact science."

Wright stutters, "W-what caused my s-symptoms?"

"Wow, excellent question. Many doctors wouldn't have gone there."

"It could be a transient ischemic attack. You could make the argument for watching carefully for the time being."

"Mmm, but you'd only make that argument if you were an administrator covering your own ass."

Cuddy glowers at House. "That's absurd, and insulting."

"Insulting, yes."

"W-what will the voters think? If they find out I've had a b-brain biopsy?"

"This could leave you b-b-b-b-brain damaged, and you're worried about NASCAR dads?"

Foreman and some other doctors performing the brain biopsy while House and Wilson have their one-fifteen lunch. Hours later, at a quarter till five, Wilson, Foreman, Cuddy and House are looking at the results.

Foreman stares in disbelief. "It's not a brain tumor."

House tilts his head. "It's not a bacterial infection, either."

Cuddy sighs exasperatedly. "So you biopsied his brain for nothing."

"If that were true, would Dr. Wilson's mouth be contorted into that ugly little shape?"

On cue, Wilson speaks. "It's toxoplasmosis."

Foreman looks at him. "You sure?"

Wilson nods, and House grimaces. "Which means the Great Black Hope has full-blown AIDS. They're gonna love that in Dubuque".

At five-fifteen, Foreman and House are talking to Senator Wright.

"Toxoplasmosis is a fairly common fungus you can get from eating undercooked meat or touching cat feces. In rare cases the fungi travel up the blood stream and into the brain causing a lesion or inflammation."

Wright looks to both of them. "So, what's the prognosis?"

"Toxo usually responds to treatment, but it only causes a lesion in your brain if your immune system is extremely weak to begin with. Senator, I'm afraid you have AIDS. As I'm sure –"

"No!" Wright cuts him off.

Foreman stares back. "As I'm sure you know, people with HIV can live a long time."

"What else could do this to me?"

"Theoretically, certain cancers –"

House cuts in. "If you have toxo in your brain, you have AIDS."

Wright forcefully and painfully growls at the teenaged doctors. "I do not have AIDS. I don't sh-sh-shoot up drugs, I don't sl-sleep with…"

"This is very bad news. I get that, and I sympathize. But we've gotta speed through the denial phase because you need antiretrovirals and you need them fast."

He hands the pills to Senator Wright. The man glares at him. "You haven't even tested me for HIV!"

Foreman quietly assures him. "We will."

House shakes the pills in his hand. "But the toxo drugs are going to piss off your fungi, and when fungi get pissed –"

Senator Wright throws the pills across the room. "I am not gonna take the pills."

House clicks his tongue. "You're afraid word will leak out. Trust me, you're not going to become President either way. They don't call it the White House because of the paint job."

"Here's what you're gonna do. You're going to give me the drugs for the toxo _only_. You are going to test me for HIV under a false name. You are going to test me for cancer and anything else that could have done this to me. If I have cancer, I will deal with it, but I do not have AIDS."

At eight o'clock the following morning, Cameron and Chase in House's office. Chase is seated on the desk, playing with House's oversized fuzzy tennis ball, and Cameron is looking online at a press release.

She reads aloud, "Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals are pleased to announce that Dr. Gregory House will present the latest research on their exciting new ACE inhibitor."

Chase snickers. "You're making that up. That's Vogler's company."

"Press release. Doing an address at the North American Cardiology Conference."

Chase leans over and looks at the screen from behind Cameron. "House never gives speeches."

House enters the room. "But when I really believe in something… Gosh dang it, I've got a chance to make a difference here."

"You made a deal with Vogler?" Chase questions.

House snatches the ball from Chase's hands. "It's all the rage. Everybody's doing it."

Chase gives House a pouty look and goes to sulk in Wilson's chair. Cameron stands up and walks over to House.

"So, what's the deal? You get to keep all of us if you plug his products?"

House exhales. "One speech, no biggie. Foreman's doing a bone marrow biopsy to check for cancer."

"Cancer?" Chase looks up. "The Senator's got _AIDS_."

"Cancer sounds better on a press release. I need you guys to rush the ELISA test for HIV."

He starts to walk into his office when Cameron pipes up. "Thank you. For the speech."

"When I said rush, I meant, you know, fast. Stat's the word you doctors use, right?"

"I know it's hard for you –"

"Double stat?" He tries hopefully, leaving the office.

Chase pats Cameron on the arm to follow him out, which she does. At nine o'clock, Foreman is performing a bone marrow biopsy on the Senator.

"This may sting a little." The Senator flinches. "Sorry."

"It wasn't the shot, it's, um, my head, it's killing me."

"You know, Senator, we don't have to do this now. We can wait until your HIV test comes back."

Wright laughs. "Guess you figure it's gonna come back positive."

"Well, in my experience –"

Wright nods. "Patients lie. Politicians lie more. And black politicians –"

"Whoa, I don't think black politicians lie more than white politicians."

"We lie less."

"You figure we're morally superior?"

Wright laughs again. "I've got my theories. No, we, we just can't get away with it. No one's gonna gi-give us the benefit of the doubt. No one's gonna cut us a second chance. And, and when it happens it's not just a bad politician, it's, it's, it's a bad role model, it's a dis-discredit to the race." He looks at Foreman standing there, needle poised. "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah. Take a deep breath."

The Senator groans in pain as Foreman inserts the needle into his hip. A little later, at ten o'clock, House is working on his charts at the clinic desk. Cameron walks up.

"Dr. House. I just wanted to –"

House rolls his eyes. "You're welcome, again."

"I want you to know how much I –"

"Got it. You're grateful. Apparently you seem to think it'll mean a lot to me to know that."

"Do you know why people believe in God?"

"I thought you didn't believe in God."

"I don't."

"Well, then you better be making a very good point."

"Do you think they pray to Him and praise Him because they want Him to know how great He is? God already knows that."

"Are you comparing me to God? I mean, that's great, but just so you know, I've never made a tree."

Cameron smiles. "I thank you because it means something to me. To be grateful for what I receive."

"You are the most naïve atheist I've ever met."

A clinic nurse walks over with a file. "Dr. House, you have a patient in Room One."

"Thank God." House remarks ironically. He walks off, but turns around. "People pray so that God won't crush them like bugs. I'm not gonna crush you."

In Exam Room One, the blonde twenty-five-year-old from earlier, Sarah, is back with a mysterious bruise on her neck.

"Petechial bruising? I don't know if I'm pronouncing that right."

House rolls his eyes. "Gosh, the internet is such a wonderful tool."

"It could be leukemia."

"Definitely possible. The more likely diagnosis is hickey."

Sarah scoffs as though it were impossible. "Well, it _can't_ be a hickey."

House is exasperated. "Why is everybody so ashamed of sex all of a sudden?"

"I'm not having sex. I've barely even thought about sex since my marriage." House reaches over and pulls a hair from Sarah's head. "Oww!"

"I say you're having sex, you say you're not. Either you're lying, or I'm wrong. Or there's some middle ground."

Sarah cocks her head. "You mean like oral?"

"I mean you're having sex without knowing it. I'm testing you for booze, drugs and GHB."

"I don't drink, and… what's GHB?"

"The date rape drug." He grimaces as he leaves.

Two hours later, at twelve forty-five, Senator Wright is looking at paperwork in his bed. House enters and hands him test results. He starts to pour a glass of water.

"It's positive." He hands the Senator the water and some pills in another cup. "Your T-cell count is eight, which means there's a good chance you'll die. I'm telling you this because we need to contact your sexual partners."

"I've only had two girlfriends. Two, after my wife died. I used c-c-condoms."

"You know the chances of you getting HIV from heterosexual sex with a condom?"

"Yes."

"Some day there will be a black president. Some day there will be a gay president. Maybe there will even be a gay, black president. But one combination I do not see happening is gay, black, and dead. You need to stop lying to me."

"It must be miserable, always assuming the worst in people." Wright responds, staring at the outstretched hands.

"Oh, cut the crap, you're dying."

"You're clever, you're witty, and you are a coward!" He grabs the cups. "You're scared of taking chances."

"I take chances all the time, it's one of my worst qualities."

"On people?" Wright questions as he downs the medicine.

"Wanting to believe the best about people doesn't make it true."

"Being afraid to believe it doesn't make it false."

"Well, that's very moving. It's a shame I don't vote."

"This is who I am. I believe in people. I'm not haply cynical and I don't make easy, snide remarks. I would rather think that people are good and be disappointed once and again."

House gets up and grabs a syringe and some rubber gloves from a cabinet. "I need to draw some more blood."

The Senator is alone at one-thirty. He sits up, and tries to get out of his bed. He stumbles, and realizes that his right leg is not working. After lifting it and dropping it on the floor a few times, he calls out, in panic, for a nurse. Cuddy pulls House away from Wilson at their lunch break. They meet in his office, where they talk about the patient. At two o'clock, the continue talking in the hall, down to the elevators.

"The antiretrovirals aren't working."

"That's not surprising."

Cuddy slowly exhales. "He's just going to keep getting worse. You realize that, right?"

"Why are you spying on my case?"

"Why are you giving that speech in two weeks?" There's no response other than House pushing the elevator button. "We're both just doing what we have to do."

"And you don't see a problem with that?"

"Checking in on a patient? Yeah, wow, how do I look myself in the mirror?"

"You're not the one being asked to perpetrate a fraud on the American people."

"It's a ten minute speech!"

"That I've been _ordered_ to give."

"Vogler's drug works!"

"Don't care."

"Oh, why do you have to make everything so dramatic?" The elevator dings.

"Because I'm a very high-strung little lapdog." He responds as he enters the elevator. "Ruff ruff ruff, rarr, ruff!"

Cuddy looks faintly disgusted as the doors close. House is standing in the back of Wright's room at two-thirty. The same nurse as before and another man helping the Senator back to his bed. The nurse grabs the medications when House shouts.

"Nuh uh. No pills."

Wright demands an explanation. "What's going on?!"

"The antiretrovirals aren't working."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't have AIDS." The Senator laughs at the outcome in amusement. "The first test was a false positive. Happens one time in every five thousand."

"You r-ran a second test." Wright stops smiling.

"Yeah. You're still dying. The only difference is now we don't know why."

Foreman later takes the Senator's pulse, noticing that the patient's right arm is twitching. At three fifteen, Cameron, Chase, Foreman, House and Wilson are talking and eating outside.

Foreman swallows a fry. "He's continuing to lose control of the muscles on his right side, his brain is getting foggier, and his T-cells are in the single digits."

"Why are we doing this here?" Chase is compelled to ask.

"So Cuddy can't find us. Unless we find out the underlying disease, this guy's lied to his last constituent."

Wilson looks at the chart. "False negative on the PCR AIDS test?"

"Ran it twice."

Chase looks at it. "Immunoglobulin deficiency?"

"No history of respiratory problems."

Cameron: Idiopathic T-cell deficiency.

"Idiopathic, from the Latin meaning we're idiots 'cause we can't figure out what's causing it." He takes a Vicodin. "Give him a whole body scan."

Cameron gawks. "You hate whole body scans."

"'Cause they're useless. Could probably scan everyone of us and find five different doodads that look like cancer. But, when you're 4th-down, 100 to go, in the snow, you don't call a running play up the middle. Unless you're the Jets."

He walks away, leaving Cameron shaking her head. "I _hate_ sports metaphors."

Wilson jumps up to follow House inside. They're walking into the hospital, toward the clinic, when Wilson speaks up about what's on his mind.

"Why did you order the second AIDS test?"

 _Beause I had a hunch._ "Standard procedure."

"Oh, well, that's you. Mr. Standard Procedure. You suspected the first test was a false positive?"

"I knew he was going to Africa and I figured he was vaccinated for Hep A and B. That could cause a false positive."

"Yeah, but you knew that before you ordered the first test. What changed?"

"I should have ordered both."

"You were sure he had AIDS, then you talked to him, then you had doubts." _There is something going on here. Voodoo bad._ "What, what did he say?"

"He said he had not engaged in any risky behavior."

Wilson is shocked. "Huh. And you believed him."

"Well, he didn't have any reason to lie –"

"Everybody lies, _except_ politicians? House, I do believe you're a romantic. You didn't just believe him, you believed in him. Do you want to come over tonight and watch old movies and cry?" _Please say yes,_ Wilson finds himself honestly wishing as House gives a great-looking smirk. "Dr. Cameron's getting to you. Well, I guess you can't be around that much niceness and not get any on you."

"Is that why you haven't put the moves on her?"

"What makes you think I haven't put the moves on her?" House stops and stares, and then realizes he fell for Wilson's trap. "Oh. Oh, boy! You're in trouble."

Wilson laughs and walks off. House walks into Exam Room One, where Sarah awaits.

"You have restored my faith in the human race. You're lying."

"No, I'm not lying."

"I got your results back. No GHB, no nothing. It means you're having sex, and you're lying about it."

Sarah is close to tears. "No, and I have a new symptom. I have a rash on my butt." She smiles triumphantly. "Do you want to…" House nods, resigned. Sarah lowers her pants so House can see. "What is it?"

"It's a carpet burn."

"No! It can't be! Doctor, I love sex. I miss it. I haven't had any in over a year."

"Well, you managed to keep this appointment, so you have no short-term memory problem. Multiple personalities? Do you find yourself losing chunks of time? Do you wake up and you don't remember falling asleep?"

"No, I just wake up really exhausted."

"Is something upsetting you?"

"No." House gives her a look and she sighs dejectedly. "My ex lives in the apartment downstairs. He's always calling me, always wanting to get back together, complaining about mixed signals. Get out of my life, how much clearer can you get?"

House nods. "We have a sleep lab in the basement. If nothing else, it'll get you away from your ex for a night."

At five thirty, the Senator is going in for his full body scan. Not long after, the team is looking at the results.

"Slightly enlarged lymph node in his left armpit." Wilson notes.

"How slightly?"

"Quarter mil."

Cuddy enters the office, taking a look at the results.

"Lymphoma?"

"Sure, or he's had a cold in the last six months." House glares at Chase. "What, you've got her on speed dial?"

Cuddy scoffs. "I just follow the scent of arrogance." House makes a face of feign offense.

Chase cuts in before he can say nythign on the matter. "Another slightly enlarged node over here. Two more in his neck and one in his groin."

Wilson nods. "And there's a cyst in his liver."

Cameron stares longer. "Looks complex. Central necrosis?"

"Spontaneous bleeding, it's benign." House groans. "I was rooting for a really cool tumor, instead we're stuck with this crap."

Cuddy shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Once you find 'em, you've gotta check 'em."

"Well, knock yourselves out." House waves his arms as Vogler enters.

"I just saw Senator Wright, he looks like hell. That sushi must have been a lot worse than you thought."

 _Great. It's a party._ "Mr. Vogler, would you like a free whole body scan? A man of your stature should get himself checked at least three times a year."

Vogler purses his lips. "Here's a few key points I want you to cover during your speech."

"Fourteen pages. The audience will be comatose by paragraph two."

Vogler smirks. "Throw in a joke."

As Vogler disappears down the hall, House makes a gesture toward his aussie duckling to follow him to the conjoining office.

"Dr. Chase. We need to talk."

House makes a point of closing all the blinds and locking the doors.

"How do you see this ending?"

Chase plays dumb. "What ending?"

"I can't fire you, so you have no reason to fear me, and therefore no reason to lie to me. You told Cuddy where I was. You told Vogler what I was doing."

"Yeah."

"So how can I work with you?"

"Well, you don't have a choice."

Chase unlocks the door leading to the hall and walks off, leaving House to think of new ways to torture his former suckup. Close to six fifteen, Foreman is performing some more tests on a now doped-up Senator Wright.

"This might hurt a little."

"Lie to me."

In the same apathetic tone, Foreman says, "Okay. It'll, uh, feel like a gentle massage."

"House is a lousy teacher. You can't lie for beans."

"Have you ever told any really big ones?"

"Oh, ho, I might be messed up, but I'm not that out of it, no no no no no…" The senator's arm suddenly starts to convulse.

"Strap his arm down." Foreman orders a nurse in the room.

"Am I gonna be okay?" Wright asks sadly.

"I hope so."

Later, at eight o'clock, House and Wilson are in House's office. Wilson is sitting in his chair, playing with the tennis ball. House is behind his desk, reading the report on Eastbrook.

"I am selling my soul."

"Just a little piece." Wilson assures him. "And you are getting something in return."

"I said I was selling it. I didn't say I was giving it away. That would be immoral, and stupid. All they've done is added antacid."

"Does it work?"

"That's not the point!"

"Well, of course it's the point! He's not asking you to lie, he's not asking you to do something illegal –"

"He's not _asking_ me to do anything."

"He's not ordering you. He gave you a choice. You chose your staff. I know this isn't easy for you. You'll suffer. Vicodin sales in Jersey will triple. But you are doing a good thing." Foreman and Chase enter Diagnostics with the test results, and House gets up to see them. "Only you could feel like crap for doing something good."

"Kidney and liver cysts are both benign, and lymph nodes all came back clean." Foreman ignores the conversation.

"His left armpit node has antibodies for CB 11." House leaves the conversation.

Wilson drops it as well. "Well, not enough to indicate lymphoma."

"We never tested for hairy-cell leukemia."

Wilson frowns. "No, but we would have picked it up somewhere besides one lymph node."

Chase fills in. "And his spleen isn't enlarged."

"Size isn't everything." House taps his cane. "The spleen is the mother lode for hairy-cells. Let's cut it open."

Cuddy walks in as Chase speaks, horrified. "You can't biopsy his spleen. It'll bleed like –"

"In the Senator's condition, a spleen biopsy could easily cause sepsis and kill him!"

House stares at them like they're idiots. "Why do you do this to me? Now, if I kill him, I can't tell the judge I had no idea of the risks involved."

Foreman shakes his head. "His brain's turning into mush, and he's at risk for more infections, so we have to do it."

"See, that'll sound _much_ better in court. Okay, go tell our human pincushion we'll be sticking him one more time." As they all leave, he looks over to the fellow nineteen-year-old. "Cuddy. Don't you hate doing this?"

"Yeah."

At nine o'clock, in the lab, Cameron is looking into a microscope as House enters and leans against a counter.

"What's up?"

"You like me. Why?"

"That's kind of a sad question."

"Just trying to figure out what makes you tick. I am not warm and fuzzy and you are basically a stuffed animal made by grandma."

"I don't think that's why you're asking. I think it's because of the speech."

House mutters something unintelligible. "Oh God, don't try and pick me apart."

"Then why are you asking? What do you want to hear?"

She walks closer to him, but House leaves. She sighs and checks out thirty minutes later. Wright is on surveillance through the night. Come morning, around eight o'clock, Foreman walks into the room bringing a form for the Senator to sign.

"Hey, Senator. We need to do one more biopsy, on your spleen."

Wright is coughing and clearing his throat. "I'll have to sign lefty, my fingers aren't working."

Foreman hands him the pen, but the Senator starts to cough and can't stop. It sounds like he's gasping for air. Foreman sets the paper and pen down, puling out his stethoscope.

"You've been coughing a lot? Does it hurt?"

While wheezing, Wright explains, "It's like I can't get air. Is that from the toxo?"

Foreman listens to his breathing. "No, this is, this is new. You don't need to sign, we can't do the biopsy."

Later on, at eleven o'clock, the senator is now hooked up to a breathing mask. The team is once again gathered in the diagnostics office.

Foreman has been explaining his first hand perspective. "The Senator's breathing is severely impaired. His O2 stat levels are at 89. His silver stain indicates pneumocystis carinii pneumonia."

Wilson nods. "Another killer fungus. It's consistent with hairy-cell leukemia."

"But we can't biopsy his spleen. Respiratory distress? His platelets are 20 and dropping, his blood won't clot worth a damn."

Cameron is staring at a results paper. "There's gotta be another way to diagnose hairy-cell."

Wilson has a different one. "No, his bone marrow's indeterminate, spleen's the only way to go."

House is standing by the window. "You know, when the Inuit go fishing, they don't look for fish." Every looks at House for a bit, but he remains silent.

Wilson sighs a bit melodramatically. "Why, Dr. House?"

"They look for the blue heron, because there's no way to see the fish. But if there's fish, there's gonna be birds fishing. Now, if he's got hairy-cell, what else are we gonna see circling overhead?"

Chase understands. "He should have all sorts of weird viruses."

Cameron knows the specifics. "HTLV and ATLV."

"We can test for them. Run the titers."

In the clinic at twelve fifteen, House is showing Sarah the results of the sleep lab.

"These were your brain waves at two forty-five a.m. Now, here it comes, there's an abrupt jump from slow-wave sleep. This indicates partial sleep arousal. The most common type is somnambulism – sleepwalking."

Sarah nods. "That would explain why I'm so tired when I wake up."

"Yes, and also why you were pregnant. And the hickies. And the carpet burn."

Sarah gasps. "I had sex in my sleep?"

"Sexsomnia is a documented disorder. You said your ex lives downstairs –"

"I'll kill him."

"Okay, but he probably didn't know that you were asleep. Sexsomniacs can act pretty normal. I'm going to write you a prescription for a low-dose antidepressant. It'll let you sleep better. If you want to save yourself the fifteen dollar co-pay, you can have sex while you're awake."

"He's my ex, I –"

"You live in the same building, you haven't had sex with anyone else for a year, you sleepwalk right into his arms. Call me crazy, but I'm sensing unresolved issues."

As House leaves the clinic, Foreman runs into him.

"Negative for HTLV-1 and 2 and ATLV and everything else. It's not hairy-cell. Hey. You really gonna give that speech?"

"You've got an opinion, too?"

"I'm a little surprised. Frankly, I thought you were too much of a self-absorbed ass to do this for us."

 _Gee, thanks._ "You're welcome. He's positive for Epstein-Barr."

"So what? It doesn't point to hairy-cell, it's irrelevant."

House pushes the chart at Foreman and walks off very quickly. About twenty minutes later, House enters the senator's room. He places his cane at the foot of the bed, then removes the Senator's breathing mask. All of the Senator's speech is compromised because of his stuttering and gasping for air.

"H-H-H-Hey!"

"You didn't fall off the swings when you were eight."

"S-S-Six!"

"Ever."

"G-Give that b-b-back!"

"Uh uh. We have to talk. You had an epileptic seizure. That's how you bit your tongue."

"I haven't h-had a s-s-seizure since, since I was –"

"What medication did you take?"

"N-N-No seizure s-since I was s-six. No d-d-drugs since I was t-t-ten!"

"Yeah, that's it. Don't worry about what the question is, don't worry that you're starting to feel dizzy, just stay on message."

Wright is frantic now. "M-My mother u-used to call it ph-physofin –"

"Phenytoin?"

"Yeah!" Wright gasps.

House places the breathing mask back on the Senator's face. "Okay, okay, you're okay, it's okay. Everybody lies."

At one forty-five, House returns from his lunch with Wilson, meeting his team in the diagnostics office to go through what all he's learned.

"Senator Gary H. Wright of New Jersey had childhood epilepsy. He took phenytoin. That drug, with the Epstein-Barr virus, is associated with common variable immunodeficiency disease. T-cells down, B-cells down, it keeps you from forming enough antibodies. See, antibodies are basically your defensive line. And your brain is like the quarterback. And then the fungi are like blitzing linebackers, plunging up the middle. Your lungs are like… okay, you've got two quarterbacks –"

"CVID? That's a type of immunoglobulin deficiency." Chase remarks. "I said that."

"Yeah, well, it was a stupid idea when _you_ said it. Then he got the respiratory problem and tested positive for Epstein-Barr."

Foreman huffs. "That's pretty much a childhood disease."

"Another reason why Chase's suggestion was idiotic. He got it when he was a kid. Didn't get any symptoms until now, it happens. It gets triggered by stress, like public speaking."

Cameron frowns. "So you're basing your diagnosis on a disease that's relatively common and a drug he took thirty years ago."

"Start the senator on IV immunoglobulin stat. If he gets better, I'm right, if he dies, you're right."

Foreman hooks up the IV a mere fifteen minutes later. House is lying on his office floor, looking through the information on the ACE inhibitor at five o'clock. Foreman rushes in.

"Dr. House!"

House and Foreman conjoin in the senator's room. They check Wright's reflexes. They work.

"You faked that." House smirks.

"No."

"Say "antiretroviral"."

"Antiretroviral."

"Now say it three times fast."

Wright simply laughs. Foreman smiles as well. "We just got back your latest blood results. Your white cells are up, your T-cells are back over 100."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"In a week? That's terrific. You'll need medication for the rest of your life, but other than that, you're fine."

"Am I well enough to run for president?" He asks, recalling House's earlier coment.

"Well, why not run for pope while you're at it?"

"Oh, come on." Foreman scoffs. "Kennedy had Addison's, FDR had polio. Two of the best presidents in the last hundred years –"

"If they were running today they wouldn't stand a chance."

"So, you figure you'd be Surgeon General if you didn't have the limp."

"No, there's things I can't do, and like you said, I have to live with reality."

"Well," He knocks on the hospital bed frame, substituting for wood. "Then I'm running."

Foreman smiles again. "Good for you."

"No, don't get excited, he's right, I, uh, I won't win."

"Then why run?"

"Oh, I see, your point being the only way to make a difference is to win every fight."

Senator Wright is able to get up and leave the hospital very shortly. A week and a half pass, and a dinner is occurring at a nice hotel. Most of the hospital staff is in the crowd, alogn with many other higher-ups. House is sitting up on stage, and Vogler has been speaking for the past ten minutes behind the podium.

"But hey, why listen to me? I own the company, I'm certainly not to be trusted, right? Dr. Gregg House, on the other hand, has a reputation. For integrity, among other things."

The crowd chuckles. House scans the crowd from his seat on the stage. He watches as Wilson comes in later. He sits at a table with Cuddy, Chase and Cameron near the front.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Greg House."

House stands up and walks to the podium to applause. The PPTH table looks slightly apprehensive, as if their jobs were riding on what is to happen next. _Well, I guess when you think about it… "_ House thinks to himself as he spots Foreman for the first time, leaning against a doorway. _And he thought I was a self-absorbed ass. Vogler probably thought the same thing. Hence a fourteen-page speech._ House adjusts the microphone, and pulls out a crumpled paper.

Very monotonously, he begins to read it off. "Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals' extraordinary commitment to research excellence is exemplified by their new ACE inhibitor, a breakthrough medical approach that will protect millions from heart disease."

 _Oh screw this._ He looks up at the crowd, stuffs the paper in his pocket, and starts to walk away. The PPTH team gives looks of _that was it?_ House is still holding the microphone with the hand not assisting with the cane. Vogler eyes him from the other side of the stage; silently growling _That's not a speech_ with his eyes. House chuckles to himself as he makes his way to the floor.

"Atherosclerotic plaque. It's formed by cholesterol combining with your fat and calcium in your bloodstream. It builds up and hardens in your arteries like magma in a volcano. Then your body is at a standstill. Dormant. When it gets too much, your arteries narrow. The volcano is silently growing until it erupts, and you're left with heart disease." House pauses in his speech, gagin the crowd's reactions. They seem to really be interested in what he has to say.

 _This is so much better than that crap Vogler gave me._ House starts up again, pacing around the edges of the room. In all honesty, he needs to stretch out his leg before the pain becomes too unbearable. "You've all got cars, right? Hands up if you've got a car."

He uses the hand holding the microphone as an example. Slowly, the crowd raises their hands. "Yeah, alright. Everyone's got a car. What does a car run on? Gasoline, right? The arteries in your body is like the gasoline in your car. Sometimes it takes a few tries to get it to ignite. Sometimes, after _strenuous activity_ ," He smirks to showcase what he implies. "You might find yourself breathing heavy and your heart going ninety miles an hour. You don't want your car to go completely without gas, alright? You fill it up each time it gets a little below half. Like taking medicine when you have a cold. Or you're in pain. The gasoline runs out of your Mercedes, Volvo, what have you. Your volcano erupts. You've got heart failure."

He stops talking again, staring off the others in the crowd. His eyes fall on his team's table. Cameron's eyes are shining. Chase is drinking again. Makes this his third. Cuddy looks like she's waiting for the inappropriate joke. Wilson has undivided attention. House's leg is starting to hurt, so he limps toward the stage.

"Heart disease has topped mortaility charts as the number one killer regardless of gender. You're learning about heart disease all your life, whether you realize it or not. In nineteenth century literature, main focuses have relied on broken hearts. Now, while unrequited love cannot _actually_ , physically break your heart, it can be a prominent driver _toward_ heart disease."

Once he reaches the stage, he struggles only slightly to hoist himself up. He sits on the edge of the front of the stage, allowing his feet to dangle. "Has anyone ever picked up on all the metaphors doctors use? My team knows since I use a sports metaphor on basically everything I send them out to collect. Still, without realizing it, a lot of you are guilty from using war metaphors. When your patient is undergoing extensive treatments and not giving up, what do you say? She's a good _fighter_. You oncologists," he makes a point to nod to Wilson, "when your patient is a battleground against the disease, what do you say? It's a war on cancer. It even gets to a parental level with the younger kids. If the disease is a threat or a danger, and the kid is in the bed, just staring up at you… it's all _he's too sick to know the truth._ It's what you do."

He glances up, nodding to someone standing off to the side of the stage. The twenty-something man helps House to his feet. House nods his thanks and makes his way to the podium. He sets the microphone in its place and hangs his cnae off the side so he can grip the edges.

"This man behind me, the man who introduced me, is Edward Chi Vogler. We don't like each other on a personal level. I think he's a stuck-up billionaire. He thinks _I'm_ a screwed up, miserable son of a bitch who should probably reread the Ethics Code. I recently violated a DNR and was charged with assault. He left the hospital without needing his wheelchair and he gave me a trumpet. After that, I wasn't completely myself. I was detoxing and had a broken hand when I brought a termite into the OR and spat on a surgeon. The thirteen-year-old's liver healed and he was able to go home with his family."

He pauses once again, seeing various reactions from his outward statements. He looks down at the specific table again. Cameron's eyes are downcast. Chase has choked a little on his drink. Cuddy has her eyes shielded. Wilson is speechless, but in a good way. The corners of his mouth are tilted upward. House glances to the doorway to find an equally surprised Foreman. House decides he needs to conclude what he's come here to do.

"Edward Vogler is a brilliant businessman. A brilliant judge of people, and a man who has never lost a fight. He has donated quite a sum of money to the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital to help cure diseases like Alzheimer's and cancer, after his father succumbed to Alzheimer's. The man doesn't even recognize his son any longer. Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals is Vogler's company. As I've said before, they have a new ACE inhibitor. A.C.E. Angiotensin Converting Enzyme. The inhibitor will decrease the production of angiotensin two that flows in your body. It's a very potent chemical, for those of you still confused, that contracts your muscles. It narrows your vessels and increases your blood pressure. With the new ACE inhibitor in Eastbrook Pharmacueticals, you can control high blood pressure. You can prevent strokes, possibly nephropathy, and treat heart failure. You can keep your volcano dormant. You can keep your engines running. Thank you."

House ends his speech, followed by a multitude of applause. His table is the first to stand, but they're not the last. Vogler stares at him with a pointed look, but he nods and reclaims the podium. It's only for a few moments, to have the room thank House for his speech. The dinner begins, but House completely forgoes it. His leg is shooting intense pains and he needs to make an escape. Wilson follows him out into the parking lot.

"You actually spoke."

"I told you I was selling my soul."

"That was above and beyond." Wilson shakes his head. "I admit, I thought a few things you said were going to fall flat on your face. Did you seriously make fun of yourself in there? You told them mistakes you made. Point blank."

"There were no mistakes."

"Fine. Rules you broke. I'm, I'm impressed."

House grimaces, nodding. "I gotta go."

Wilson frowns, following House's pain scale. "Give me a number."

House grunts. "Six."

"That's like a nine for me." Wilson sighs. "C'mon. I'll take you home."

Wilson leaves no room for argument. He helps House into the passenger seat of his Volvo and takes off. The ride to House's apartment is quiet but nice. Wilson mentions that he'll take House to work in the morning as well, and that they'll return to the hotel tomorrow afternoon to pick up the corvette. House begins to fade away. When they arrive at the apartment, House takes several Vicodin with a beer. The boys each grab one of House's looser shirts, and Wilson strips to his boxers. House pulls on some pajama pants. Wilson grabs a beer, settling on the couch. House, instead, opts for the piano. Neither of them says a word. House begins playing the piano and Wilson soon drifts off to sleep. Close to midnight, long after the dinner, House is ironically playing _"High Hopes"._ There's a soft knock at the door, and House doesn't want to wake Wilson. House reluctantly gets up to open it, sees who it is, waits a moment, and then opens the door to reveal Cameron. Rather than admit her inside, he walks into the hall and closes the door to lean on it.

"I guess I should have taken a couple of extra Vicodin and just held my nose."

"I'm guessing you did take a couple extra Vicodin."

"True."

"You don't need to worry about firing anyone. I'm leaving."

"Why? Is this another noble, self-sacrificing gesture? You trying to protect Foreman?"

"No."

 _Great. I actually do the stupid speech and I still lose a duckling._ "So this is just, "Don't fire me, I quit.""

"I'm protecting myself. You asked me why I like you. You're abrasive and rude, but I figured everything you do, you do it to help people. But I was wrong. You do it because it's right." Near tears, she extends her hand. House looks at her hand, but he doesn't take it. She nods and withdraws. "There are only two ways I can deal with things. One is in my control. That's to leave. Goodbye, House."

House doesn't look at her, and she leaves. He glances up then, and watches her go a few moments more. Then he walks back into his apartment. He bypasses Wilson and the piano. He plucks the beer off the top and meanders to his room to think about how it could've gone differently.

 **Um, wow. Yeah, I just did some actual research and worked out a speech that House would give. Obviously, since in this case he did give a speech, this episode starts morphing the arc a bit. Some stuff from here on out will be added or subtracted dramatically. Of course, this may mean that some chapters will be erratically shorter. Huh. Imagine that.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Well, well, welly-welly-well, class. I don't actually know where that's from. I heard it somewhere. Sorry I'm late again. I've been procrastinating on my more important duties, but it's only a little after midnight. So... let's all pretend i actually _did_ post this on Thursday... Thanks to my redo of the previous chapter, this one is obviously off-kilter. This one starts off at nine a.m. on May 20** **th** **. Graduation has just happened for most schools in the area. Eric and Robert have to leave work from time to time to head to testing zones for their final exams. House and Cuddy are 19, Wilson's still 18, Foreman is 16, and Chase is still 15. Cameron is 14, even though she quit. I give you 1.18 - Babies & Bathwater.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

Foreman is looking at an MRI of pregnant twenty-nine-year-old Naomi's brain. "Well, the good news is, it doesn't look like a stroke. No bleeds, no clots."

"Thank God." Her husband, twenty-four-year-old Sean, remarks.

Naomi looks up. "It sounds like there's bad news."

"We got your blood work back. Some things are a little off. Your liver and kidneys aren't working so well."

Sean is apprehensive. "Why, what would cause that?"

"It's preeclampsia, isn't it? I'm gonna miscarry, aren't I?"

"Preeclampsia is a possibility, but let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I've miscarried three times, I'm twenty-nine, we had to use in vitro, you've gotta make sure that the baby's okay –"

"Let's make sure that you're okay, first." Sean holds her hand.

"How about we take care of both of you at the same time. The nurse will be in soon to draw some blood; I'd like to run some more tests."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Thank you."

Foreman leaves the room, and walks up to Chase, who is at the main clinic desk.

"Where is everybody?" The Aussie asks.

"No one's in the office?"

"No, haven't heard from Cameron all day. You seen House?"

"Heh. Look for a shallow grave with Vogler standing over it."

 _Meanwhile, House at his desk. Vogler is sitting across from him. Both look very solemn._

 _"You have a Stage 4 cancer. It's metastasized to your liver." Vogler looks shocked. "There's a new drug called 8C 12 that's shown promise in Phase 2 trials. It's your best shot."_

 _"Thank you, Doctor. You've been so good to me."_

 _"Well, I did publicly profit your company's drug."_

 _"When I think about how I treated you…"_

 _"Oh, hey, come on." House gets up and walks to behind Vogler, sans cane and limp. He rests his hands on Vogler's shoulders. "There, there."_

 _Vogler sniffles. "So, um, there is some hope?"_

 _"Always. But just in case, I special-order an extra jumbo-size coffin." House jokes._

 _"Hey!"_

 _"Don't thank me. It's just who I am."_

"Hey!" Foreman shouts.

House wakes up; he was sleeping on one of the clinic beds.

"Up and at 'em, big guy."

House blinks and rubs his eyes. "Sorry, up late. Internet porn." _Terrified because Vogler hasn't talked with me about the speech yet._

"How come you're not in your office?" Chase asks.

 _Because I can't face Cuddy or Wilson and that's the first place they'd look. Not exam room three._ "Because there is a computer in my office. If I log on, romance will ensue. My wrist might fall off."

Foreman shakes his head. "Hiding because Vogler's looking for you. That's just pathetic."

"I don't like loud, angry giants threatening me with violence. How is that pathetic?"

Chase scoffs. "You think you can avoid firing one of us by hiding out here? He'll find you sooner or later."

House gets a drink from the snack tray. "I'm okay with later."

Foreman holds out a chart. Twenty-nine-year-old female, twenty-eight weeks pregnant, G 4, P 0."

"Three miscarriages? Gimme." He takes the file.

"Altered mental status and complete loss of coordination."

"Tox screen?"

"Negative for alcohol and drugs. She was on oxybutynin."

"For incontinence. "

"We took her off, but no change. BUN, creatinine are up, LFT slightly elevated."

Chase chimes in. "Preeclampsia. Call the OB-GYN service and rub some prayer beads."

Foreman continues. "BP's normal; no preeclampsia in other pregnancies."

"Because she didn't carry long enough."

"The three miscarriages make me think it's an underlying physiology."

House cuts in. "Pregnancy-related autoimmunity. Too bad that Cameron quit, I could use an immunologist right now. We'll see if you're right; check the blood."

Foreman stills. "Cameron quit?"

House nods. "Last night. And do an MRA for vasculitis, too."

"There is no way she quit! She got fired because you couldn't swallow your pride!"

House ignores the claim. "An ultrasound? Excellent thought! And put her on magnesium, too, in case it is preeclampsia." He takes a Vicodin.

"Sure." Chase replies as he leaves, and Foreman follows him out.

The two boys argue with one another through the entire journey from the clinic, the elevator and down the hall to the patient's room. They plaster smiles on their faces as they reach Naomi's room and open the door.

"Hey, there! I brought my colleague along to help out."

"Hi, I'm Dr. Chase."

"Hi." _He looks even younger. Is this some sort of child prodigy department?_

At ten o'clock, Chase performing is the ultrasound on Naomi. "Well, ultrasound looks good. No sign of fetal distress."

"So it's not preeclampsia?"

"Well, it still could be, but it hasn't progressed, at least. We're gonna put you on bed rest and monitor the baby."

"Okay." She takes some food from her tray and eats it.

"We'll give you some potassium and magnesium as well. So, we should keep the fluids running for now and check her again in an hour unless there are signs of fetal distress or –"

He cuts off as Naomi begins to choke. Sean is alaert and on his feet. Chase calls Foreman inside, who's been watching from the other side of the wall.

"Lean forward." Foreman demands.

"What is, is she all right?"

"It's probably just some muscle weakness."

Foreman, Chase and Sean put Naomi on her back, and Foreman starts to remove the offending food with tweezers.

"What do you mean, probably?"

"Naomi, open up."

Chase speaks for his colleague. "People choke; it could be nothing."

Foreman gets the piece of pear that was lodged in Naomi's throat. "You all right?"

Naomi is crying. "I can't, I can't, I can't even swallow."

In the clinic an hour later, House is looking at a baby. Her parents, Rachel and Joel, are standing close by.

"She gets sick a lot but this, this cold got really bad all of a sudden. And the fever…" Joel explains to House, and then whispers to his child. "Shhhh, it's okay."

"It's not a cold." House hands the baby back to Rachel. "It's pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?"

"Relax, pneumonia's her second-biggest problem. She has gone from the twenty-fifth weight percentile to the third in one month. Now, I'm not a baby expert but I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to shrink."

"Well, there's this diet we put her on when we stopped breastfeeding –"

Joel cuts in before House has any ideas. "But it's healthy, raw food. We're vegans. Almond milk, tofu, vegetables…"

House is ahead of the curve. "Raw food. If only her ancestors had mastered the secret of fire. Babies need fat, proteins, calories. Less important: sprouts and hemp. Starving babies is bad, and illegal in many cultures. I'm having her admitted."

"Is she gonna be all right?"

"Antibiotics for the pneumonia, IV feeding to get the weight up. Don't worry, it's a vegan IV."

At twelve-twenty-nine, Naomi is in the MRI machine. Chase glares to Foreman while watching the scans in the observe room.

"Don't see any signs of vasculitis. Odd, since you're always right about everything."

"Could be a different auto-immunity. Or you could bite me."

"Oh, no." Naomi's fingers move toward her stomach.

"Naomi, you okay?" Chase asks.

"I'm getting cramps."

Foreman and Chase rush out to her. "Strong?" Foreman asks.

"Yeah. Feels like my miscarriage. "

Chase scowls. "It's preterm labor."

"He's too little, he won't survive!"

Foreman nods to Chase. "She's on magnesium already."

"Fuse interbutoline, then. We're going to give you some medicine, okay? Try to stop your labor."

"Okay."

They inject her with the medication. Meanwhile, House peeks into his office. He's hopeful to gather a few papers and head to Wilson's. Seeing no Vogler, he walks in and looks at the papers on his desk. He turns to leave, and Vogler is standing right in front of him. He doesn't look happy. House jumps back instinctively.

"Whoa! There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you. Uh, listen, you said I had to cut one of my people if I didn't give that speech about your drug, and in fairness to your point of view, my speech really wasn't the one you had in mind, so I've cut Cameron. Now we're all squared away, right?"

"Your speech was filled with idiotic metaphors, pacing, _your_ flaws, and you said almost nothing about what the medicine will do. In the morning, I expect you in my office with your letter of resignation and plans for a public apology, otherwise I'll destroy you."

House looks a little shocked as Vogler walks off. "So that's a 'no' on us being squared away."

 _Destroy me? What the hell is his problem? Cameron left, I did the damn speech. He just really wants me gone. Should I go see Wilson now?_ House's thoughts are cut short as Foreman and Chase join him in the diagnostic office.

"She might make it to full term. Contractions are less frequent and not well organized." Chase immediately goes into detail.

House bypasses them, rummaging through the cabinets. Foreman watches. "Great to see you back in the office. I guess Vogler found you?"

"Yeah, we had a nice little chat. I really should have kept Cameron. She knew where to find the sugar."

Chase goes back to the case. "It's what I said. Preeclampsia. A little stress from the MRA, she pops straight into labor."

House exclaims as he shakes a packet of sugar triumphantly. Foreman ignores him this time. "What about the myasthenia?"

"Come on, she didn't seem that weak."

"She choked; she couldn't even swallow."

"What did she choke on?" House questions as he fixes his coffee.

"Her food." Foreman answers. "The muscle weakness isn't a symptom of preeclampsia."

"What kind of food?"

"A little bit of cooked pear, it doesn't matter! It shows weakness."

"She choked on soft, wet pear. Did she forget to take the bones out? That's way past muscle weakness. Did you do an upper endoscopy?"

Chase tilts his head. "You think there's something obstructing her esophagus?"

Wilson enters the room. "We've gotta talk."

 _Dammit! He already knows!_ :Oooh. We've gotta talk." As he leaves, he calls to the ducklings. "And check her eyelids."

"Check her eyelids?" Foreman is puzzled.

No one answers him. House and Wilson walk down the hallway in silence. Wilson finally sighs, breaking the tension.

 _Like ripping off a band-aid._ "Special board meeting today, only one item on the agenda: you."

 _He said he'd destroy me. How do you destroy someone? You take away all their shit. My pills, my 'vette, my cane… my Wilson._ "Well, enjoy the bagels. I'm untouchable."

 _Yeah…_ "Huh. Right."

 _Wilson wouldn't get me fired, would he?_ "Any vote to revoke my tenure has to be unanimous. I've got you and maybe even Cuddy."

 _He's got me there. I'd do just about anything for him. He's my best friend, the bastard._ "Oh, well that settles it. Mr. Ruthless Corporate Raider will be stymied, go home, curl up on the floor of his shower and weep."

 _Right. Long as I've got Wilson. … and my pills._ "What can he do? I've got a contract."

 _Yes, but he can take away your Vicodin. I hate it when you're in pain._ "Does it say how much your team gets paid? Where your parking space is? If your car should be filled with horse manure? Vogler's smart; he's got some plan to get you."

 _I'm all too aware of that._ "Does it involve candy? Because I'm a sucker for chocolates."

Wilson gives him a look and walks away. House takes a couple Vicodin. At two twenty-nine, House checking in on the Kaplan baby.

"She's doing better."

Rachel smiles. "Oh, thank God."

"Technically, Alexander Fleming. He developed antibiotics. Pneumonia's under control, and from now on, what say you stick with human food."

Joel grins. "Absolutely, swear to God."

"This time, that's your guy."

House starts to leave, but is blocked by a bunch of people entering the room, including police officers.

A woman in a business suit approaches the couple. "Rachel and Joel Kaplan?"

"Yes?" Rachel looks up.

An officer approaches with a set of handcuffs. "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…"

Joel looks violated. "What did we do?"

"You're being charged with child endangerment."

"What? How? We –"

"Starving your kid. I'm Ms. Friedman from Social Services, we're taking responsibility for your baby."

They all leave, leaving House standing there. Minutes later, House storms into Cuddy's office, quite upset.

"This is how Vogler's gonna destroy me?"

"What did he do, grease your cane?"

"He had my patients arrested."

"He didn't, I did. The nurses were concerned and they called me. There was evidence of abuse; you took a big legal risk by not calling Social Services."

"Those parents were not abusive, they're idiots."

"Oh, well that's certainly a relief."

"It was _my_ call."

"You made the wrong one."

"You know, there's a new biography of Quisling, I think you might like it."

"Sure. No idea who that is."

 _Damn her and her disinterest in history._ "Uh, Norwegian guy, World War II, traitor. The fact that I have to explain this kind of takes the edge off my flow."

"I was protecting you."

"From what? Cops aren't gonna bust me. Disiplinary committee maybe gives me a slap on the wrist."

"And Vogler has an excuse to get rid of you."

 _Who the fuck cares?_ "If I don't give him one, he makes one up."

"Vogler's just one vote; he's gotta convince the other eleven of us. I'm just trying to stop you from making that extra easy."

House leaves. At three forty-five, Foreman and Chase are examining Naomi.

"Sean, do your wife's eyelids look any different than usual?" Foreman asks.

"Um, maybe one is drooping a little bit, but you know, she's tired, so…"

Chase tsks. "Naomi, can you open your mouth for me and tilt your head back? This is gonna be a little uncomfortable." He inserts the scope into her throat, and there is a lump in her throat. "Yeah, there's swelling, indenting the esophagus."

"Is that why she choked?"

"We'll need to do an x-ray."

"What?" Naomi gasps. "No, the baby – you said no x-rays."

"It's important. "

At four o'clock, Chase and Foreman have gotten Naomi x-rayed. They call Wilson for a consult. He looks at the x-rays with House and the ducklings.

"Three centimeter mass in her right upper lobe."

Foreman wonders aloud, "Maybe it's a granuloma."

"No." House shakes his head. "There's no calcification."

Twenty minutes later, Wilson is talking to Naomi and Sean.

"It's small-cell lung cancer. The tumor's starting to press against your esophagus. It hasn't metastasized, but it has spread to other parts of your lungs so we can't operate."

"Wait, that doesn't make sense. She had kidney failure and brain problems…"

"Some cancer patients get what are called paraneoplastic syndromes. You were making antibodies to fight the tumor. It attacked other cells: your brain first, then your liver, kidneys… even the nerves that control your eyelids. That's called Lambert-Eaton syndrome, it told us the tumor was in the lungs."

"How bad is it?"

Wilson sighs slowly. "Small-cell is the most aggressive kind of lung cancer. The five-year survival rate is only about ten to fifteen percent, which is why we need to start you on chemo and radiation right away."

"Not radiation, what about the baby?"

"You'll need a C-section before you can start the treatment; I can get you in first thing tomorrow morning."

"What are the chances my baby will survive?"

"Pretty good. You're twenty-eight weeks, so about eighty percent."

"No, wait, that's one in five chance he'll die?"

Wilson bites his bottom lip. "I really wouldn't advise waiting."

"Naomi, you've got to start this treatment right away –"

Naomi cuts off Sean. "What happens if I wait?"

"Twenty- _nine_ weeks, survival rate is closer to ninety percent."

"I'm not doing the radiation."

Sean looks horrified. "You'll die –"

"Listen, you know the chances, they're nothing, but a few more weeks will save the baby."

"Listen, you're depressed right now, and you're not thinking right."

"Sweetie –"

Sean looks to Wilson for help. "Could you just, tell her, please?"

"This cancer moves quick. The median survival's two to four months. If you postpone, even for a week…"

"I'm sorry, honey." Naomi whispers and Sean looks broken.

Meanwhile, at four-twenty-nine, where everyone minus Wilson is gathered.

Vogler starts the meeting. "As most of you know, Gregory House recently gave a speech about me." Wilson enters the room. "I'd like to return the favor."

Wilson mutters apologies as he takes his seat.

Vogler presses his lips. "Dr. Wilson. I was hoping you were going to miss this one. A man is the sum of his actions. Here are a few of Dr. House's. He violated a DNR and was charged with assault. He brought a termite into the OR and spat on a surgeon. He accepted a Corvette from a patient who was a known member of the New Jersey mafia."

"Ed, look –" Dr. Simpson starts.

"Edward."

" _Edward_. He admitted to those claims in _his_ speech. You look at anyone's career, you can find things that are –"

"These are the last three months. He's personally had more complaints filed against him than any department in this hospital."

Wilson cuts in. Okay, look. He's miserable, and he's bluntly honest, but it works for him. He's saved hundreds of lives."

"He is a drug addict who flaunts his addiction and refuses to get treatment. He is a disgrace and an embarrassment to this hospital. I'd go on, but it gets kinda mean, so I'm gonna keep this simple. House goes, or I go."

Cuddy frowns. "You shouldn't personalize this."

"And by I, I mean my hundred million. How's _that_ for personalizing?"

"You gave us that money for a reason. Are you really willing to throw it all away because of one doctor?"

"Gregory House is a symbol of everything wrong with the healthcare industry. Waste, insubordination, doctors preening like they're kings and the hospital their own private fiefdom. Healthcare is a business, I'm gonna run it like one. I hereby move to revoke the tenure of Dr. Gregory House and terminate his employment at this hospital, effective immediately."

A female doctor who is the Head of Surgery frowns. "Don't you think we should discuss this –"

"We just did."

Cuddy agrees with the other woman. "We need time."

"The vote is on the table. All in favor?" There is absolute silence in the boardroom. Awkward pauses ensue, until one doctor on Vogler's right raises his hand. All of the rest of the hands in the room quickly go up, except for Cuddy's and Wilson's. Cuddy stares at Vogler, who stares back, and she sighs and raises her hand. "Dr. Wilson?"

"Opposed?"

Vogler groans. "The motion is defeated. Dr. Wilson, would you mind leaving the room, please?"

"Excuse me?"

"We're gonna take another vote."

"Well, first of all, you can't void my vote by making me stand in the hallway. And second, you should check the by-laws. You need notice and at least one business day before you can reconsider any matter."

"We're voting on a different matter, which you are… conflicted out of."

"How can I be conflicted?"

"This vote is whether to dismiss Dr. James Wilson."

Wilson, a little annoyed, leaves. _If Cuddy didn't even stand up for House, I'm good as screwed._

At five ten, House, Foreman and Chase in House's office.

"Naomi is refusing to have the C-section. Her odds aren't good enough." Chase complains.

"They do suck." House agrees. "Where's Wilson?"

Foreman shrugs. "Paged him twice."

"She does this, she knows she's gonna die."

"She's saving her child. Cameron would point out that people are capable of sacrifice."

House sneers, "Cameron isn't here."

"Perhaps proving her point." Foreman huffs.

"You think this woman is making a rational decision?"

"I think people can overcome their baser drives."

"Pretty damn rarely. And not this time, this is purely biological. In evolutionary terms, the needs of the next generation are more important."

Chase scoffs. "You're saying she's making the right call?"

"Darwin is, I'm not. The next generation is not my patient. We have to raise the odds for Mommy. And where the hell is Wilson? He's the oncologist."

He leaves his office. Joel and Rachel run up to him.

"There he is." Rachel nudges her husband. "Dr. House!"

"You guys bust out?"

Joel winces. "We made bail. They won't let us in our baby's room."

"Weird. You'd think they'd let you take her home while they figured out if you tried to kill her."

"We're good parents, we fed her whenever she was hungry."

Rachel nods. "Big meals. We had no idea that diet was so bad for her."

"The nutritionist said it had everything she needed!"

House shakes his head. "The kid who stacks the free-range grapefruit in your health food store is not a nutritionist."

"But my uncle is." Rachel assures him. "He went to college and everything."

House looks at them, and then pulls out his cell phone. After a few rings, it picks up. "Foreman, I need a CT scan on…"

Joel supplies the name. "Olive Kaplan."

"Seriously?" Joel nods proudly and House sighs. "Olive Kaplan. Check for abscesses or occult infections." He hangs up; and faces the Kaplans. "Bu-bye."

The couple leaves and House walks into Wilson's office.

"Listen, Vogler's all about clinical trials, the hospital's chock full of them. There's got to be something for small-cell lung cancer." House pauses as he notices that Wilson is packing his stuff in boxes. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I got sacked."

 _Shit, shit, shit and double shit._ "Did you make a pass at Cuddy? Told you, she only has thighs for me."

Wilson huffs. "I voted to keep you."

 _Damn it! He sacked my Wilson!_ House moves to the desk and starts taking things out of the box. "So he's getting rid of every board member who votes to keep me around?"

Wilson laughs bitterly. "Yeah, every one of us."

 _Well, I am glad to know I have one true friend willing to get fired for me._ "Just you?"

"Yeah."

 _But… he's leaving still? He's leaving me?_ "But you're only off the board, right? They couldn't have got unanimous approval for you."

"Brown from Oncology voted no, so did Cuddy, Taylor and Peevey."

 _Damn it, stop packing!_ "Eh, so you're off the board, big deal. Frees up Wednesday nights for bowling. You're still a doctor –"

Wilson cuts him off. "Yeah, getting dumped looks great in Who's Who. Vogler gave me the option of resigning, and I took it."

 _Damn it! Fucking damn it! Vogler is seriously destroying me!_ "Big of him."

"I've got no kids, my marriage sucks; I've only got two things that work for me: this job and this stupid, screwed-up friendship, and neither mattered enough to you to give one dumb speech the way _he_ wrote it. You had to go bring in all your metaphors."

House winces. Quietly, he speaks up. "They mattered. If I could do it all again –"

Wilson shakes his head. "You'd do the same thing. Well, you'll be gone soon, too."

House whispers so quietly, Wilson almost doesn't here. "I'd try harder. I don't want you to leave." Wilson turns to the side so House doesn't notice the tears threatening to fall. House doesn't notice anyway. He's tempted to hide the box away but that wouldn't help anything.

 _Maybe I should just quit._ "Those clinical trials?" He finally speaks just above a whisper.

Wilson takes the chart. "I'll make some calls."

"Thanks, Jimmy." House smiles weakly. "Really."

At five o'clock, Cuddy is completing a prostate exam on a patient in the clinic.

"It's not cancer."

"It's not gonna kill me?" Her patient asks.

"It's hemorrhoids."

"But all that blood… that can't be right?"

"Looks worse than it is."

House walks in, now angry rather than sad.

"Nice job of protecting me."

"Can this wait?"

"His ass can wait. You saved my job by sacking Wilson?"

"What did you think would happen when you made that speech? You think he would just pout for a little while and we'd all forgive you? You scrapped what he gave you and came up with some junk about volcanoes and cars. You don't spit on the man who signs your paycheck. First Cameron, then Wilson – you're next." She turns to the patient. "Pull your pants up."

 _I made the damn thing way more interesting._ House scoffs. "So it's about the money."

"Of course it's about the money. The money Vogler gave, he could have bought a few jets, maybe a baseball team, or just stuck it in Chase Manhattan and collected interest. But he gave it to us to buy equipment, to do research! You are a great doctor, House, but you are not worth a hundred million."

At six o'clock, House is talking to Dr. Prather, the oncologist running the trial.

"We've sequenced the DNA of the tumor cells. P53 gene mutation at codon 55. She's perfect for your trial."

Prather nods. "She's pretty far advanced."

"Well, if you want easy cases, you picked the wrong speciality."

"Otherwise in good health?"

"Excellent." House nods.

"When can she start?"

"Middle of next week."

"Cancer's already stage three, it'd be a waste of time."

House holds his breath. "She can start in two days."

As he leaves the ward, House pages Foreman and Chase. Once they've intervened in the hall, House explains what he's done. Foreman is intensely alarmed.

"She can't start in two days! She's pregnant!"

"She won't be in two days. I've scheduled a C-section."

Chase rolls his eyes. "She'd still have to wait a month. You can't take part in a trial until twenty-nine days after major surgery."

"Well, it's definitely surgery, but major?"

Foreman shakes his head. "It's not your call."

"Again, a question of interpretation."

Chase scoffs. "You're scamming a doctor, now? Come on, Vogler's looking for any excuse to can you."

"Oh, I think he's got a big bag of those already."

Foreman doesn't like this. "These regulations aren't just here to annoy you, okay? Doing this is dangerous to the patient."

"Well, I'll be sure to let her know that. Care to join me?"

Neither of them want to be part of this. At seven o'clock, House is talking to Naomi and Sean. "Angiogenesis inhibitors prevent the tumors from creating blood vessels. Without blood, the tumor starves."

"That sounds great –" Sean smiles.

Naomi shakes her head. "What about the baby?"

"The treatment would be fatal to the baby. I've scheduled a C-section for later this afternoon. It's in the trial phase right now, but so far complete remission in more than twenty-nine percent of subjects."

"I told Dr. Foreman I didn't want a C-section."

"When your chances of living were less than a third of what they are now."

"Well, the baby's premature, that –"

"Our pediatrics department has the best neonatal ICU in the state."

"No, his lungs, his brain, he's not ready."

"And he could be fine!"

"You don't know what it's like, raising a sick child!"

House looks up, interested. Sean presses through. "His odds are much better than yours are. You have to let them at least try this." Pleasding, he looks up to House. "Talk to her."

House nods. "Okay. Leave the room." Sean does so, and House moves closer to Naomi. "How long have you been taking oxybutynin?"

"Uh, since I was about seventeen."

"Incontinence is pretty uncommon in a woman of your age. It's even more bizarre in a woman in her twenties."

"I guess I haven't had the best luck when it comes to my health."

"Seems that way. You said to your husband, "You don't know what it's like, raising a sick child." You didn't say, "You don't know what it would be like." This is not your first child, is it? And he doesn't know."

"I was eighteen. Got pregnant, got married. I had the most beautiful little girl, Grace. She had infantile Alexander's disease."

"I'm sorry."

"For two years we watched her die. My husband was, uh, my first husband was a, a great guy, but after that I couldn't even look at him without thinking of her. I left him, I left my job, I left everything –"

"Very moving story. Explains why you're being so selfish."

"I'm willing to die to protect my husband."

"Because it's what you want. Your husband wants you to live."

"Well, he doesn't understand…"

"Oh, who the hell does? Tragedies happen. You think that turning yourself into a disposable incubator for a few weeks is going to protect your baby from all the crap in this world, go ahead, die happy. I got no problems with people killing themselves, but don't think it makes you a hero."

Naomi cries. "Okay."

"You're scheduled tomorrow for six a.m."

Hours later, when it comes to it, Dr. Lim is in the OR, getting ready for the surgery, but a nurse has a phone up to his ear. The nurses are talking about various happenings, and the anesthesiologist begins to put Naomi under.

The anesthesiologist requires she count down from ten. Naomi nods dizzily. "Okay. Ten… nine… eight…"

Sean is standing by. "That seemed kind of fast, is she all right?"

The anesthesiologist nods. "She's fine."

Lim starts taking off his gloves. "Wake her up. That was Vogler; surgery's off."

A few minutes later, Vogler is walking down the stairs into the lobby. House comes out of the elevator and starts yelling loud enough for everyone to hear.

" _H_ ey! You're killing her!"

"Really? See, I thought you were the one trying to ram her into a drug trial five minutes after surgery –"

"She knows the damned risks, she was fully informed –"

"Well, the guy running the study sure wasn't."

"Not his life, not his call!"

"His study, his call!" Vogler's rise in voice causes Cuddy to come out of the clinic to watch.

"Right, so she kicks off, his number look bad."

"When the numbers look bad, the study looks bad!"

"Which would cost you more damn money!"

"And keep a life-saving protocol off the market!"

"One person, one blip in the data!"

"You ever heard of the FDA? They eat blips for breakfast! One person should never endanger thousands!"

"Well, thank God you were here to save all those lives!"

Vogler pauses, breathes, laughs, and shakes a finger at House. "The board's meeting again this afternoon. Why don't you settle down? Play some Game Boy. Why don't you watch your show? I hear they're firing the handsome doctor today. Boy, that should be a good one."

He walks away. House glares at Cuddy before he leaves, holding in a lot more words he could've said or punches he could've thrown. At eight o'clock, Foreman and Chase come in. They're informed of the great fight as they make their way to Naomi's room.

"If we had the C-section anyway, we could still do the experimental treatment, right?" Sean sighs. "We'd just have to wait twenty-nine days."

"Assuming the doctor running the trial isn't too pissed off to let her in, yeah." Chase nods.

"And assuming I'm even healthy enough to –" She suddenly gasps, grabs Foreman, and the monitors all start to beep.

"Honey? Are you okay?"

"Stats are dropping. Down to the eighties. Stay with us, Naomi."

"What's going on?"

"We need you to leave the room."

Foreman turns to a nurse running in. "Respiratory distress."

"Could you just tell me what's going on?"

"We're trying to find out."

Sean is escorted from the room. Foreman is doing a quick ultrasound on the baby and Naomi's lungs, while Chase looks down Naomi's airway.

"Still kicking."

"Flash pulmonary edema?"

"Lungs are clear. There it is."

"Pulmonary embolus."

"Gotta get her to an OR."

Foreman and Chase run with a bunch of nurses and techs to the OR. Sean is rushing after them.

"What happened?"

Foreman breaks off from the group to talk to Sean. "It's an embolism. A blood clot. It's fairly common with lung cancer. It's not a full saddle embolism, so blood's still trickling through. We've been able to get Naomi breathing a little, but we need to remove the clot, and we need you to approve the treatment."

Sean nods. "Yeah, whatever you have to do, just do it!"

"It's not that simple, okay. The best course for the baby would be an immediate C-section. The longer we postpone, the greater chance it'll have brain damage from lack of oxygen."

"Fine, whatever, just do it!"

"Here's the problem. The C-section would be very, very dangerous for Naomi."

"Dangerous, like…"

"In her current condition, there's a real chance she wouldn't survive. I'm sorry. Look, your wife's unconscious, we need you to make a decision."

"I just want her to live. No C-section."

Foreman nods and runs to the OR, leaving Sean standing in the hallway. In the OR, Chase and Foreman are in their scrubs, along with a tech and two nurses.

Foreman glances to the motniors. "Stats are still way down. We've got to push the streptokinase."

"Too risky." Chase denies. "Even if it dissolves the clot, she could still bleed out anyway."

"She's hemodynamically compromised."

"It's not good for the baby."

"Dad doesn't care."

Chase inserts a needle. "Embolcine 250,000 units."

The monitors start to beep. "BP's dropping. Pressers!"

"We don't have time. We've gotta suck it out."

"Systolic BP's 80." Chase gets the clot out as Foreman shouts orders. "BP's stabilizing, O2 stats rising."

House enters the OR, in scrubs and minus his cane. "Did you get the clot?"

"I think so. She's stabilized."

"How long was her oxygen at that level?"

"Ten minutes?"

"Brain function compromised?" The monitors go off again.

"BP's dropping. Up the dopamine. She's not responding. How much?"

"She's up to 30 micrograms!" Foreman gasps.

"Is she septic?" Chase questions as House lifts the robe on her stomach to reveal a expanding purplish bruise.

"She's bleeding into her abdomen."

Foreman flinches. "We won't be able to stop it. I'll go talk to the husband."

"No, you stay here." As he leaves the OR, he calls back. "Keep her as stable as you can for as long as you can." He leaves and finds Sean pacing outside. "She had trauma during the procedure. She's bleeding into her abdomen. There's nothing we can do; I'm sorry."

"Um, no?"

"I need you to okay the C-section."

"Yeah, that's gonna kill her, right?"

"It probably will."

"I can't do that."

 _Okay, like ripping off a band-aid._ "She's dying either way."

Sean drops his coffee cup. "I'm sorry, I'm –"

House grabs his arms. "Stay with me, Sean. I need your okay on this."

"She makes the decisions, and I'm –"

"Right, and that's gonna be tough from now on, but this decision is easy. You know what she'd want."

"I can't do it."

"You make this call, only two things change. One: yeah, you feel guilty for killing your wife. Two: your baby lives. Naomi's baby lives."

Sean is sobbing now. "Okay, okay."

House reenters the OR, and Sean sits in one of the chairs outside of it. House calls up Dr. Lim with the okay for the C-section. In under ten minutes, the C-section is underway.

"He's out; umbilical cord's clamped." Lim acknowledges.

Chase groans. "No respiration."

Foreman is upset. "His lungs aren't opening up."

"They aren't mature."

Chase and Foreman work on the baby. Foreman takes lead. "Come on, take a breath. You know you can do it."

The monitors beep. Chase then takes control and continues to work on the baby while Foreman walks over to Naomi. "What've you got?"

"Looks like v-fib." Lim sighs.

"Pulse?"

"No. Paddles!"

Chase is rubbing the baby's chest off to the side. "Come on, come on."

"Clear!" Lim shocks the mom.

"Nothing."

"Charging."

Chase continues rubbing the baby's chest, growing frantic. "Come on, open up."

Foreman glances to Chase. "How's he doing?"

"He's still not breathing; we've got to intubate." Chase responds as he goes to get the equipment.

"Clear!"

Lim gives off another shock. Nothing happens to Naomi, but the baby starts to cry. As Naomi is shocked again, Chase tends to the now-breathing baby. Meanwhile, House is sitting in the hallway, waiting for a specific person. Sure enough, Cuddy swings by.

"I'm late for the board meeting."

House gets up to walk with her. "We need to talk."

"I don't want to hear it."

"It's about a patient."

"The pregnant woman? She wasn't qualified for that trial and I'm not going to apologize –"

"I'm not talking about her." House glumly cuts her off. "At this point I think it's best that I concentrate on patients who are still alive." Cuddy looks surprised. "Pulmonary embolism. She bled out. Saved her son." He hands Cuddy some films. "This is Olive Kaplan's CT scan, the incredible shrinking baby."

Cuddy looks at it in shock. "Her thymus gland –"

"DiGeorge Syndrome. It's genetic, can cause the gland to wither to nothing."

"This is why she couldn't gain weight."

"Yeah."

"I'll call the police and Social Services and have all the charges withdrawn."

 _This is the clincher. If this doesn't give Jimmy back his job, I better start packing my office now._ "I've sent a test down to confirm; when it comes back you should start Olive on immunoglobulin replacement."

"You're not going to do it?"

House sighs dejectedly. "I assume I won't be here."

Thirty minutes later, Sean is standing by the bed of his wife. Foreman walks in.

"Your boy's doing good." Sean nods, and bends over to kiss Naomi's forehead.

At the board meeting, Vogler addresses the crowd. "It's the same motion as yesterday, people, same reasons. All those in favor of dismissing Gregory House raise a hand." When everyone raises a hand except Cuddy, Vogler sighs. "Dr. Cuddy, you realize this is going to happen."

"I can't do it."

"You can't abstain."

"I'm not abstaining, I'm voting no."

"You've changed your mind since yesterday? What did he do, buy you dinner and roses? Threaten to drown your dog?"

"He did his job."

"Right. He saved another life."

"Maybe."

"Good for him. It's great. It's not the point."

"It's what we do."

"And you could do it a lot better if you didn't have to worry about some madman running around the hospital accountable to no one!"

"But that's not the choice you're giving us."

"House won't listen to anyone –"

"And you're not accountable to anybody, either! Because you think you own us."

"I move for the immediate dismissal of Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

Dr. Simpson pouts. "She's upset, we all are. Why would you risk your career to save him?"

Cuddy gives him an incredulous look. "If you think House deserves to go, if you think I deserve to go, Wilson deserved to go, then vote yes. But if you're doing this because you are afraid of losing his money, then he's right! He does own you." She stands to leave. "You have a choice. Maybe the last real one you'll have here."

She leaves and everyone looks at Vogler. The news travels quickly throughout the hospital. House drops by around three to help Wilson set things back in his office. The ducklings have early release from their duties. At five o'clock, Wilson pops the cork on a champagne bottle in House's office. He passes drinks to House behind his desk, Foreman in a desk chair, and Chase sitting on the desk. Wilson sits at his reserved chair and the four are soon drinking and throwing a Nerf football around.

"Cuddy is a genius," House announces as he tosses the ball to Foreman. "Convincing four people to give up a fortune to save our sorry asses." Cuddy walks in just then. "Dr. Cuddy!" He raises his glass, followed by Chase and Wilson. "The man of the hour."

Foreman throws the ball to her, which she catches with a startled laugh. "What are you doing?"

"We're drinking." House scoffs. "I would have thought that was pretty obvious."

Cuddy tosses the ball to Chase, and she picks up an empty glass. "We're underage. You and I are nineteen and Wilson's eighteen, but Chase and Foreman?"

"If something happens, we _are_ in a hospital." House shrugs.

Cuddy smirks and fills her glass. "Well, to the great champion. Saved you, saved Wilson, saved the whole team." She downs half the glass and shakes her head. "Don't any of you get drunk. No one gets the excuse to come to work tomorrow with a hangover."

"Thank you, Ms. Buzzkill." House rolls his eyes.

"Good night, doctors."

Cuddy leaves the room with a few waves and byes. Foreman drinks the rest of the champagne in his glass and sets it on House's desk. He waves to the others and silently leaves. He grabs his things from the other room and begins working on his testing packet in the hall while watching through the glass wall at Sean holding his baby and crying. Close by, Joel and Rachel have been reunited with Olive in her hospital room. Chase tosses the ball to Wilson and sets his glass next to Foreman's. He offers a polite smile and wave as he leaves the office with his belongings.

"So, what say you we finish unpacking your office and then Chinese at my place?"

Wilson smirks and tosses the ball to House in agreement. _This is what I need. Video games and Chinese and working with House._

 **Hi! It ended less upsetting than the actual episode I'd like to say. I love that so many of you are reading this. It's exciting.**


	19. Chapter 19

**That quote from the last chapter: it was Ace, from the Gang Green Gang, from the episode** _ **Schoolhouse Rocked**_ **. I am so happy for all my reviews and am glad so many people are reading this story! My sister is driving me crazy with her weird food cravings. Anybody else eat pickled eggs with whip cream? Anyway, she's in the other room watching** _ **The Big Bang Theory**_ **because she thinks it's the funniest show created. Here is 1.19 – Kids. They're on summer vacation now; it is June 11** **th** **(chosen simply because that's Dan Howell's birthday, which has nothing to do with this; I just really like him).**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

It is eleven a.m. and Alison Cameron is at her apartment. Her mom has left to go to the store and Alison is working out on her treadmill. There is a knock at the door. She frowns at who could be coming over, but she opens the door to find House there, knocking with his cane.

"I saw the light on."

"It's daytime."

"Yeah, it's a figure of speech. Always so literal."

"Got a new cane."

House nods. "Yeah. Guy in the store said it was slimming. Vertical stripe…"

"Why are you here?"

"Vogler is dead."

Her eyes widen. "What? What happened?"

"Again with the literal translation. Vogler the idea, Mr. Destructo, Mr. Moneybags, bow down before me; he is gone from the hospital, so things can go back to the way they were."

"The way they were was kind of weird."

"Weird works for me."

"What are you saying? Literally?"

"I want you to come back."

"Why?"

House's beeper goes off, and Cameron crosses her arms. "Please unclench. You're not on the clock, and when you do that, I clench, and then it's the whole thing…"

"Could you look at your pager?"

House sighs but looks at it to placate her. "It's no big deal, some sort of epidemic. Not my area."

"You should go, it's important."

"What I'm doing now is important."

"Why do you want me back?"

 _Because you're a good buffer._ "Because you're a good doctor."

"That's it?"

"That's not enough?"

"Not for me. Mom'll be back soon. Go deal with your plague."

She closes the door and locks it. Nearly an hour later, House arrives at the hospital. The lobby is filled to the brim with patients and doctors alike. House is slightly overwhelmed by the number of people. A voice on the overhead speaker calls out, " _You are in a quarantined area. Please remain calm and stay in line. A doctor will see you shortly. When you see a doctor, you will receive a blue or yellow form. Patients with blue forms must immediately enter the parking lot…_ "

House starts to leave when Cuddy spies him from the clinic. "Dr. House! We need you here."

"Sorry, lot of sick people. I might catch something."

"A judge at the campus pool center collapsed, LP revealed a virulent form of bacterial meningitis."

"Great, got it diagnosed, you don't need me."

"Twenty-five hundred people at the pool center were exposed. They're being bused to all the neighboring hospitals."

"That's a problem of resources, not diagnostics. No, I'd be completely lost, get in everyone's way."

"Joe!" Cuddy calls out to a security guard who stops House from leaving. "Dr. House doesn't have a blue slip. No one leaves the quarantine area without a blue slip. You are a doctor at this hospital: act like one. And," she finishes as she grabs a cup of pills, "take these."

House does so. He props exam room one's door open so he can speedily go through all the patients. At the sixteenth patient, he reads from a thermometer. "102. You win a trip to the second floor. Next!"

Next door, Wilson is running checks at a slower but stealthy pace. He likewise has exam room two's door propped open. He's on his twenty-first patient. "All right, no fever, no rash, you're fine. Take these two pills, and show this blue slip to Security on your way out. Next!"

House is later with his twenty-fifth patient, a middle-aged woman. He hands her two pills and a glass of water. "Take these, go home, and talk to your daughter."

"What?"

"Your pants, your blouse, your scarf are all freshly dry-cleaned. Everything except your jacket, it's got a smudge on it. Probably two days old. Which means you didn't know the jacket had been worn. So either your husband is a crossdresser or your daughter has been borrowing your clothes without telling you. Probably wants to look older to get into bars."

"I don't have a daughter."

House's eyes widen as he hands her a blue slip. "Next!"

Chase is in exam room three, dealing with his thirty-seventh patient.

"So I have it."

"Yellow form to the second form, you're gonna be fine."

"I'm gonna die!" His patient begins to cry.

"It's treatable as long as you go to the second floor. Next!"

House is with his forty-fifth patient, checking her, nine-year-old Mary's, temperature.

"Yow."

"Fever. Does that mean I have it?"

"You have a rash? Come on."

Mary lifts her jacket to reveal a red rash on her hip. "It's from my new bathing suit, I've had it a week."

"Yeah. Does your neck hurt? If it does, you get the trifecta."

"It's nothing. I pulled it trying to do a three-and-a-half tuck."

"Where are your parents?"

"We live in Chicago. I'm here with my coach perry." She cranes her neck to look at what House is writing on her chart. When he looks at her, she looks away sheepishly. "I wanted to see what you were writing."

House turns his neck to the side. "Go like this." Mary turns her head to the left and to the right, which hurts her. "Now like this." He bobs his head. She then nods it to her chest and up, which doesn't hurt at all. "Stay here."

Foreman dealing with his sixty-first patient. "Take these pills. A blue slip will get you out of here. Next!"

He automatically puts his hands up, to find House next in line. "You're coming with me."

After looking at his pile of blue slips, Foreman follows. Chase is talking to his sixty-third patient. "You're going to need a CT scan. Second floor, take the elevators, follow the parade. Next!"

House whistles to him from the doorway. Chase holds an apologetic glance to the line and runs off. House, Foreman and Chase are soon walking down a very crowed hallway, talking about Mary's condition.

"Maybe something systemic." Chase offers.

"Or maybe it's meningitis."

"She's had the rash a week. If it was this meningitis, she'd be dead by now."

Cuddy walks up. "You guys figure we're done down there? The eight hundred people milling around are just waiting for the bathroom?"

"Nine-year-old female. Fever, rash, neck pains. Not meningitis."

"It's the definition of meningitis!"

"Sure, pus in the spinal canal makes it hurt to move your head up and down, but her head only hurts moving side to side."

"Oh, side to side." Cuddy replies condescendingly.

"Doesn't fit."

"The three of you, lobby, now."

"Those little pills you're passing out so efficiently aren't going to do Miss Louganis squat."

"You just don't want to deal with the epidemic."

"That's right. I'm subjecting a nine-year-old to a battery of dangerous and evasive tests to avoid being bored." Everyone stares at him. "Okay, maybe I would do that, but I'm not. If it turns out she does have meningitis, you're right, you win, but if we go back downstairs and she dies… your face will be so red."

Cuddy scowls. "You have one hour."

Cuddy stalks off and House orders the test. "Get a lumbar puncture. Some brain infections can be pretty clever at hide-and-seek."

"I'll get on her bloodwork." Chase sets out to move, but House's voice stops him.

"No you won't. You, sir, will research all the causes in the universe of neck pain."

"The list is, like, two miles long!"

"Start with the letter A. And put her on rifampin."

Foreman frowns. "Rifampin is for meningitis. You just said –"

"In case I'm wrong. It _has_ happened."

At the nurse's desk a few minutes later, everyone is pestering a very harried Brenda the nurse.

"Brenda, I need a CBC count 7 and 2046." Peevey requests.

"Hold on." Brenda sighs.

Foreman pushes his way through, and Lim calls him out. "Hey, hey, there's a line here!"

"That's why I said 'excuse me.' Brenda, I need a bed, and…"

"We all need stuff." Brown complains.

"Push me again. Brenda, I need a bed and a nurse for a lumbar puncture."

"No beds, no nurses for at least four hours."

"I've only got one."

"Your patient only has an hour to live unless she gets a lumbar puncture?"

"Cuddy only gave us an hour to work on the patient."

"Back of the line."

The other doctors laugh at him as he leaves. Foreman then finds Mary. Within minutes, he's struggling to perform a lumbar puncture on Mary in the middle of the hallway on a gurney.

"This novocaine will numb you for the lumbar puncture. Sorry this has to be so public, Mary."

"Normally I'm in a bathing suit with five thousand people staring at my butt. I can block this out."

Foreman raises his eyebrows at the coach.

"These kids are all very mature. Travel around the country from event to event."

"Okay, I need you to hold your knees and tuck your head."

"Like a dive?"

"Exactly." She does so. "Good, great. Don't forget to breathe."

He's about to start the puncture when someone hits the gurney.

"Sorry!" Whoever it was shouts.

"Geez! Coach perry, help me out here, play a little defense before I poke the wrong thing?" The coach helps guide people away from the gurney. "Okay, here we go." He starts the puncture.

"Ow, I feel, ow, I feel it, ow!"

"Try to relax, Mary, try to relax."

Meanwhile, Chase is researching on the laptop. House walks up.

"What letter are you up to?"

"A."

"Torture combing through all that stuff, ain't it? Real dull. Awful."

"It's no problem."

"Well, thank goodness. A lot of people would resent having to do this."

Foreman is later looking around for Brenda. He grabs a passing nurse's arm. "Where's the nine-year-old girl that was here?"

"Needed the gurney." She shrugs.

"She just had a lumbar puncture, she's not supposed to be moved!"

"Sorry, we needed the gurney."

She walks away and Foreman walks down the hallways, looking for Mary. After about five minutes, he finds her lying on a couch.

"Hey."

"Hey." Coach Perry acknowledges.

"You okay?" He asks Mary. "How's your head feeling?"

"She's got a headache, and she's dizzy."

"She shouldn't have been moved after the procedure, I'm sorry."

"I'm fine, what did the test show?"

"No meningitis, no other infections."

"But you're not carrying a blue form." She notices. "I have something else, don't I?"

"Something's causing your symptoms. We're going to keep you overnight. I know it's a little crazy here, but hopefully things will settle down and we'll get you a room."

Mary starts to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually all emotional like this."

"You're doing great." Coach Perry assures her. "Your folks will land in a few hours."

"I just… I haven't slept, I'm so tired." She wipes her eyes and looks down at her hand. "Oh my God, my eye's bleeding. What is it, what's happening?"

Foreman checks it out with his pocket flashlight. "Oh, don't worry. The antibiotic we gave you in case you had meningitis can turn your tears reddish. That's not blood." He notices something, and opens her mouth to reveal bloody teeth and gums. "But that… that's blood."

Twenty minutes later, and Mary is looking into a endoscope. "That's going into my _stomach_?"

"The vials showed blood in your GI tract. We need to find out where it's coming from. You won't feel it." Chas informs her. "I'm going to numb the back of your throat and Dr. Foreman is going to give you a sedative. Open." Mary opens her mouth, and Chase sprays her throat. The three of them are gathering a crowd of spectators. "Swallow. Now lay on your side for me. And here we go." Chase rolls his eyes at the people crowding him. "Yell "fire," or something."

"People, this area is highly contagious. Please step back. Highly contagious." Despite Foreman's warnings, the crowd pays no attention to the teenager's words.

"All right. Try to relax, Mary, this shouldn't take too long." He inserts the scope, and he and Foreman watch it's progress on the monitor.

"Don't see any tears or lesions."

"All right, I'm in her stomach. There's no bleeding."

"There was more than a tablespoon of blood in her stomach, so it's got to be there. Maybe her small intestine."

"Thirty feet of digestive tract, it could be anywhere in there. We're not going to see it with this."

They carefully remove the scope and Chase needs to find something else. While he's gone, Foreman has Mary wearing a belt with the sensor equipment. When Chase returns, he is holding up a pill camera.

"Believe it or not, _this_ is a camera. You swallow it, and it goes all the way through your system. The antennae pick up the signal from the pill. We're going to look at the video of your intestines, see where the blood is coming from, and fix it. Water? Down the hatch."

She swallows it. Minutes later, the three doctors are watching the camera footage in House's office.

"Think I've seen this movie. The ending's kind of dark." House offers some candy to Foreman. "Want one?" He grabs a candy and House pretends to offer one to Chase, but takes it away when he starts to take one. "How come you did the endoscopy?"

" _He_ asked for help!" Chase blames Foreman.

"Her blood pressure was high, I was worried –"

"Foreman is _not_ your boss. When I tell you to do something – whoa. Hold it there. Back it up a couple of frames." He looks intently at the image on the screen. "Oh, yeah! That's your money shot."

Foreman looks closer. "I don't see anything."

"Really? Ginormous thing on the right side of her intestine doesn't even intrigue you?"

"Does ginormous mean really big or really, really big, 'cause I don't see anything."

Chase looks closer. "There? A Dieulafoy?"

"Oh." Foreman bites his lip. "Well, we can burn off the swollen blood vessel, but it still doesn't account for her other symptoms."

"No, but it does tell us something. Though I have no idea what."

"Could be a precursor to intestinal intussusception."

"Precursor isn't causing all of her other symptoms. What else?"

Cuddy enters the office. "You, in the lobby, now."

"I hurt my leg. I have a note."

"You had your hour. Two, actually."

"Dr. Chase, I told you to tell us when our time was up. She has intestinal bleeding."

"She'll wait. Two more buses just arrived. We need you downstairs."

"No, you need more nurses. But you cut back on the nursing staff so you have doctors doing what the nurses should be doing."

"That's true. I wonder if that has anything to do you with you costing us a hundred million."

Half an hour later, House, Foreman, Chase and Wilson are crowded in the lobby, seeing their own patients while talking about Mary at the same time.

House hands a patient black girl a blue slip. "Go, be free." A bouncy Japanese-American girl walks up.

Foreman treats a forty-year-old business-type woman. "It's not the intussusception, what about stomach cancer?"

Wilson treats a nine-year-old boy wearing a Sherpa hat. "Does she have any abdominal pain?"

Chase hands a blue slip to a brunette girl his age. She takes it in the hand not holding a soccer ball. "No."

Wilson hands over the blue slip. "Then it's not stomach cancer. Have you ruled out sepsis?"

Chase begins treating a twentysomething pink-haired woman who must be the boy's mom. "The LP and blood smear showed no signs of infection." He hands over a blue slip. "Here. Take these two pills and you can go."

House sniffs the hair of his sixteen-year-old patient. The younger blonde teen looks like she's been smoking pot lately. Foreman hands a blue slip to the middle-aged woman.

"Well, the lab's working at double their capacity, maybe someone screwed up."

"No fever, no neck pain." House remarks before turning to the girl. "Take the elevator to the third floor."

Wilson is treating a blue-haired boy his age. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wrong form. No fever, no neck pain, she's fine."

"Smell her hair, no chlorine. Which means she wasn't at the pool. Which means she's come to a quarantined area because she's a idiot or she's insane. No one is that stupid. East wing, psych ward, bye-bye." House's patient finally wanders off.

Chase is treating a girl with spiky black hair. "Neck pain could be a symptom for bone cancer."

House is treating a brunette boy who smells like mud. "You up to Bs? Well done!"

"It would account for all her meningial symptoms. Rash, fever…" Wilson agrees and then turns to the patient. "You're fine. Take these two pills…"

House look to Foreman. "Get a sample of her bone marrow."

"From here?"

"Break time."

"Need more than fifteen minutes."

"Use Chase's break, too. Go."

Two hours later, House and Wilson are walking in the hall.

"You should just fire Chase."

"What, and miss out on all this fun?" House asks bitterly.

"So you're going to torture him for a while and then fire him? That's cold."

"You don't think he has it coming?"

"Hey, I said fire him." He flinches toward House as a random patient in the hallway vomits. I say because I care.

House doesn't move away, allowing Wilson to remain pressed against his side. "That's cold. All he did was save his job."

"What?" Wilson is shocked, but he doesn't move away. "He completely screwed you over!"

House spies Cuddy walking their way. She joins at House's other side. Her cleavage shows much more than average, as she's only wearing a barely fitting half tank top under her open lab coat, along with running shorts. House and Wilson have trouble not staring.

"The rest of this hospital is busting it's tail, and…" House raises the chart he's holding to cover Cuddy's midsection. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to think of anything except the produce department at Whole Foods."

Wilson tries not to laugh, but he still smiles, leaning a little more on House. Cuddy gawks at the grinning boys.

"I am… working, it got hot, stop acting like a thirteen-year-old!"

"Sorry, you just don't usually see breasts like that on Deans of Medicine."

"Oh, women can't be heads of hospitals? Or just ugly ones?"

"No, they can be babes. You just don't usually see their funbags."

She huffs, deciding to end the conversation. "Your three o'clock interview for Dr. Cameron's position is in your office."

"Ah, not interviewing today. I don't know if you've heard, but there's this big time epidemic. Many sick people puking in the hallways, it's crazy."

"I'll send the interview home." Wilson offers. "We can reschedule."

"No, you won't. You will interview this person, and if he can put two sentences together you will send him to the lobby where he will do his job. Unlike the two of you."

In the clinic, Foreman is once again trying to get things out of Brenda.

"Come on, you know I can't do a bone marrow aspiration in the hallway."

"And I can't give you a procedure room."

"I just need something at least close to a sterile environment."

"I need ten more nurses."

"Brenda, listen, listen. She'll die."

"At least she'll have a bed, then." She looks to Nurse Jeffrey "Put that over there."

Half an hour later, Foreman, Mary and Coach Perry are in the morgue. Mary is lying on a slab.

"Are there dead people in those cabinets?"

"I hope that's who's in there. Just be calm, relax." Foreman says as he begins the procedure.

"Ow, ow."

"Hang on, hang on. Almost done."

Meanwhile, House is in his office with the Cameron-replacement candidate, seventeen-year-old prodigy Doctor Roger Spain. Wilson is there to stop it from getting bloody.

"You know, I really admire the way you don't care what anyone thinks. You just do what you want, the way you want."

Wilson cuts in before House can say anything. "So, you went to Hopkins for both undergrad and med school?"

"That's right."

"He's in a band." House comments.

"You into music?"

"Totally. What kind of music do you play?"

"Um, mostly blues, you know. James Cotton, some original stuff."

House pops a Vicodin. "Oh, dude. You are _so_ hired."

"Really?"

"Not a chance."

"Why?"

"Tattoo."

Dr. Spain turns his right arm to reveal an Asian symbol on his forearm. "Wow. I thought you'd be the last person to have a problem with nonconformity. "

"Nonconformity, right. I can't remember the last time I saw a seventeen-year-old kid with a tattoo of an Asian letter on his wrist. You are one wicked free thinker. You want to be a rebel? Stop being cool. Wear a pocket protector like he does and get a haircut. Like the Asian kids who don't leave the library for twenty hours stretches, they're the ones who don't care what you think. Sayonara."

Dr. Spain leaves. Wilson raises an eyebrow. "So should I go through all the resumes looking for Asian names?"

"Actually, the Asian kids are probably just responding to parental pressure, but my point is still valid."

An hour later, Mary has a bed in the hallway. Her team is gathered around her.

"So when do they think you're getting out of here?" A girl named Wally asks.

"I don't know."

"You don't look sick." A girl named Rachel feels Mary's forehead.

Wally shakes her head. "Better hope you're not, this equipment looks like it's a hundred years old."

Foreman walks up. "Just got it out of storage. It is the previous generation, but it works just fine. Could you guys give us a second?"

"If it's good news, you can tell them."

"Okay. We're pretty sure it's not cancer."

Another girl, Nicole, grins. "Hey, that's great."

Coach Perry smiles as well. "I'll call your parents."

"Well, we still can't release her. We still don't know yet exactly what's causing the –" A monitor beeps. "Mary?" Foreman looks into her eyes with his flashlight.

Coach Perry looks over in alarm. "What's wrong?"

Mary is unresponsive and unmoving. Foreman tries to prod her. "She's having an absence seizure. Mary, you okay?"

Coach Perry keeps the girls at bay. "She looks fine."

"I need some help over here!" To the first nurse he sees, he calls out. "Push two milligrams Ativan, stat!"

Chase, Foreman and House are in the bathroom when Mary is stabilized and watched over for an hour.

"Are you sure it was an absence seizure?"

"Absolutely. She was totally unresponsive and unaware of what was going on around her." There are sounds of someone groaning in a stall, and the ducklings make faces of disgust. House rolls his eyes. "Do you mind? We're trying to work."

"We should get back out there." Chase complains. "Cuddy's going to be looking for us."

"Looking, but not finding. You do an EEG?"

"Seizure frequency's increasing. They're almost constant now. Five in the last half hour."

"Which tells us…"

"It's definitely in the brain."

Chase cuts in again. "And it's getting worse."

"And?" More groaning is heard. "Good lord, are you having a bowel movement or a baby?"

"Could be barbiturate withdrawal."

Foreman shakes his head. "No, can't be drugs. She's tested at every meet she competes in."

"A bleed in the brain can cause seizures."

Chase has an idea. "Rat poison. Could also cause the neck pain."

"You think she's eating off the floor of her folks' garage?" Foreman raises an eyebrow.

"Doesn't have to be."

"Who would poison a nine-year-old?"

"Well, let's see now, there's the eighteen-year-old has-been that she beat out to make Nationals, the has-been's parents, jealous siblings, sociopathic swim fan, and then there's just your plain old garden variety whack job." The toilet flushes, and some six-year-old kid patient walks out of the stall. House sneers at him. "Hey! You know what a hemorrhoid is?"

Slightly taken aback, he answers. "No."

"Well, google it. And try some Raisin Bran instead of the donuts." He turns on the faucet with his cane, and then returns focus to his ducklings. "Okay, do a CT scan, check for intercranial bleeding."

"Not a chance, radiology's totally swamped. " Foreman exhales.

"If our patient's bleeding into her brain, she's gonna be dead in eight hours."

"She could be, but a meningitis patient will be without a CT scan."

Chase has a thought. "When I was in middle school, I had this teacher –"

"Who touched you in the naughty place?"

Chase continues. "Before the CT scan was introduced, he specialized in transcranial ultrasound."

"Hmm. Ancient, but if there's enough bleeding it might work. Okay, do what the guy who didn't specialize in neurology said."

Foreman leaves. Chase huffs. "It was my idea!"

House mimics him. "You've still got to cover Q-Z."

House later enters his office, where Wilson is sitting with fifteen-year-old prodigy Doctor Petra Gilmar.

"Sorry I'm late, I was taking a dump."

"I'm guessing I'm better off interviewing right after than right before."

Wilson smirks. "Dr. Petra Gilmar, Dr. Gregory House."

House glances over the resume. "You actually speak four languages, or you just banking on never being interviewed by anyone who does?" He questions, taking some Vicodin.

"It's true. And I can swear in two more."

"Why are you leaving Dr. Hazel? Did you fall for him and can't handle it, or is it the other way around?"

Wilson is a little shocked by the way this conversation is going. "Yes, well, pretty much every fellowship ends that way."

"No, it was nothing like that."

"You Jewish?"

Wilson gives him a ' _hey, now!'_ kind of look.

"Yes."

House smirks. "Is it true what they say about Jewish foreplay?"

"Uh, uh…" Wilson begins to stutter.

"Two hours of begging?'

"I heard four."

"Well, actually, I'm only half-Jewish." Wilson and House exchange looks. "Look, I know you like to play games with people. I know you like to say outrageous things and study how they react. What you should know about me is that I grew up with four brothers. Keep your hands to yourself, and I'm okay with anything that comes out of your mouth."

Wilson smiles. "Well, that's great. I think that's all we'll need. Thank you for coming by."

"Thank you."

She shakes Wilson's hand, and then House's. Wilson closes the door as she leaves.

"That's our Hitler!"

"Maybe." House contemplates this. "Did you see her shoes?"

"Her shoes? What, did your horoscope in Vogue tell you to avoid women wearing green shoes?"

"The eyes can mislead, the smile can lie, but the shoes always tell the truth."

"They were Prada. It means she has good taste."

House scoffs. "They were not Prada. You wouldn't know Prada if one stepped on your scrotum."

"Okay, well, they were nice, pointy…"

"Exactly, they were stylish, and very painful to wear. Only an incredibly shallow and insecure woman would rather be in pain all day then wear a decent looking, comfortable shoe, and that's exactly the type I don't need around here."

"No, someone who can handle a lot of pain is exactly the type you do need."

House smirks. "Okay, she _might_ be our Hitler."

Half an hour later, Foreman is looking through cabinets in Exam Room One for ultrasound equipment. He has to battle through other doctors treating meningitis patients. Chase continues to diligently research in hopes that House won't fire him. Finally, Foreman is able to complete the ultrasound, and Chase can perform a tox screen. Soon after, Mary wakes up.

"What are you doing?" The nine-year-old asks the sixteen-year-old in her room.

"I'm ultrasounding your head. You're still having seizures. This should help us figure out what's going on."

It is nine o'clock in the evening. House and Wilson are doing meningitis tests and talking.

"Blue form to the security guard." House sighs, nodding to the redheaded man.

"You're not going to be happy with anyone." Wilson yawns, treating an elderly man who is rambling about World War II.

"So what, your advice is... hire someone I'm not happy with and be happy?" House questions as a teenage version of the man he's just treated appears.

"No, my advice is much more subtle. Stop being an ass. You always find some tiny little flaw to push people away."

"Now it's people. I thought we were talking about fellowship applicants."

"You have a history of this."

"Well, when I _do_ decide to push you away, I hope there's a small person kneeling behind you so you fall down and hurt your head." He remarks, giving the pills and blue slip to the teen. "Go see the guard, Kid."

Wilson, likewise, hands pills and a slip to the older man. "Take these, there's water over there, blue form to the guard, and you're done." House and Wilson walk out of the clinic. "You had the perfect person, and you blew it."

"I said I'd think about Gomez."

"Gilmar, and I'm not talking about her."

"You're talking about Cameron."

"I'm talking about every woman you've ever given a damn about."

"Cameron is so not perfect."

"Well, nobody's perfect."

"Mother Teresa?"

"Dead."

"Angelina Jolie?"

"No medical degree."

House scoffs. "Now who's being picky?"

Wilson shakes his head in exasperation. "You are going to wind up alone, House."

Foreman and Chase walk up. "You were right, there's a significant bleed in her temporal lobe."

Chase nods. "No poisons. Did a tox screen on her blood, urine and hair, nothing. Did 'em twice."

Cuddy is nearby, talking to a nurse, working on a patient. "He's a little dehydrated, put him on a saline drip and give him some orange juice."

House holds his breath and walks up. "I need an operating room and a surgeon."

"Oh, well, given the current crisis I'm tempted to say no, but since you've been so sweet to me today –"

"Our little mermaid is bleeding into her temporal lobe."

Cuddy drops the sarcasm. "How fast can you have her prepped?"

"Twenty minutes."

"You'll have a surgeon in the room in ten."

Mary undergoes the surgery. While she's recuperating at eleven o'clock, Foreman sets out to talk to Mary's parents, who have just arrived.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carroll?"

Mr. Dion Carroll eyes him. "You're young. Are you Dr. House?"

Coach Perry steps up. "This is Dr. Foreman."

"Is Mary all right?" Dion asks.

"The operation went well. The intercranial pressure's been relieved and the swelling's already going down."

"Thank God." Dion whispers.

Mrs. Celine Carroll is impatient. "Well, what happened? Did she bang her head at a meet, or did she –"

"No, nothing like that." Perry cuts in.

"Then why is she bleeding?" Celine is alarmed. "Is she going to be all right?"

"We're sorry, we still don't know."

House is staring at the white board. Wilson and Chase are seated at the table. Foreman joins them a bit later, and Chase is incensed.

"No toxins, no tumor, no bone cancer."

"Adrenal failure could cause the rash, fever and muscle pain." Foreman adds in. "Maybe it's some sort of genetic kidney disorder."

"No family history, and no blood in her urine or…"

"Not yet."

"You want to do a differential based on symptoms that _might_ happen?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Stop it." House snaps. "Stop looking for things we don't know and focus on what we do know. What do we actually know besides what's up there? Come on, how hard can it be to tell me what you already know?"

"She's nine." Chase points out the obvious.

Foreman joins in. "She spends a lot of time at the pool, so exposure to chemicals."

"She travels a lot."

Wilson pipes up. "But never out of the country."

"What else? Come on!" House leaves the room in a rage.

At one o'clock in the morning, House is looking in on Mary through the wall. Chase, Foreman and Wilson have just walked up.

"We're missing something."

"What?" Chase asks.

"Well, if I knew that it wouldn't be missing."

"Maybe she's adopted and we've got the wrong history."

"No, she's got her mom's eyes and a red patch of hair just like dad."

"What about an allergic reaction?" Wilson tries.

Chase shakes his head, letting a yawn escape. "Could explain the rash and muscle pain, but not the bleeding or seizures."

"That's a lot of balloons."

"Think she's allergic to polyester?" Foreman asks.

"Not unless she's been competing in the nude all these years."

"Then what are you thinking? What do the balloons mean?" Chase is sonfused.

"What if the rash isn't a rash?"

"What are you talking about?" Foreman is confused as well.

"Who gave her the balloons?"

"Some of the girls from her team. They've been visiting her pretty regularly, but none of them are sick."

"What about the guys?"

"None of them are sick either."

"Which guys visited her?"

Wilson frowns. "Actually, none."

"She's cute, she's nice, she's a kick-ass diver. You'd think the guys would be falling over themselves to get close to her."

"She's _nine_. The youngest guy on her team is sixteen."

"Okay, so maybe they're just not interested. Or…"

"They're avoiding her." Chase catches on.

"There any cell fragments in her blood smears?"

"No, red blood cells were intact. "

"Check 'em again."

Wilson heads back to the clinic to deal with more patients. Chase and Foreman are looking at the blood in the lab. The cells are very cut up.

"Blood looks like it's been put through the blender, now." Chas comments as House enters.

"You done yet?"

"You were right." Foreman sighs. "Rash wasn't a rash, she's bleeding into her skin. It's purpura."

"Thrombocytopenia purpura?" Chase questions.

"Starts with T. You were so close."

"What could have set it off? She had no trace of E. Coli in her cultures, she's obviously not menopausal, so no estrogen."

"There is one other possible cause." House responds despondently.

Chase covers his mouth as if he were about to be sick. "Oh, God."

At five o'clock, the hospital is slowly growing slacker. House is completing an ultrasound on Mary's abdomen.

"Pregnancy cause all kinds of chemical and biological changes in a woman's body. Or a girl's body, as the case may be." He moves the screen so the nine-year-old can see the fetus. "In extremely rare cases, everything goes haywire. It's called TTP. Blood starts clotting like crazy, clogs the vessels in your brain and kidneys. Red blood cells end up getting shredded as they squeeze past the clot like a fat guy in a crowed bar. I'm sure you know what that's like. You're only nine, but you're all grown up, right?" He offers her tissues. "Travel on your own, hang out in hotel rooms getting room service with your teammates, maybe someone sneaks in a couple of beers, you start playing spin the bottle… next thing you know you're waking up in nothing but your socks."

"It wasn't like that." She sniffles.

"Of course not. You wanted it."

"Yeah, I did. He turned out to be a jerk, but…"

"Actually, under New Jersey law the term is 'felon.'"

Mary protests. "I knew what I was doing."

"We're going to have to do something called plasmapheresis. It cleans the antibodies from your blood. We're also going to have to terminate the pregnancy."

"You're going to tell my parents?"

"Someone should. Rock paper scissors?"

"They don't need to know. I'll be all right."

"Of course you will. If you're old enough to bleed out of your vagina, obviously you're old enough to handle a simple thing like an abortion without Mommy and Daddy's help."

"You're going to tell my parents?"

House sighs deeply. "Under New Jersey law, you're the boss."

At five forty-five, House is in the much less busy lobby, talking to the Carrolls.

"Your daughter has TTP. Don't worry, it's curable, she'll be fine."

Celine isn't giving in. "Well, wait! What does TTP stand for?"

House groans, rubbing his tired eyes. "Some really big words that you've never heard before and when we're done we'll never hear again. Have a nice day."

Dion stops the nineteen-year-old doctor. "Well, when can we take her home?"

"Uh, in a few days. She needs some minor surgery to remove the underlying cause before we can do the… another really big word."

Dion wants to know. "What's the underlying cause?"

"She has an abnormal growth in her abdomen."

Celine gasps. "What kind of surgery?"

"It's very simple. We do it here all the time."

Dion is tired and upset. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"Actually, no. I'm sorry."

Mary has the abortion around eleven-thirty. Tears are rolling down her cheeks throughout the procedure. At five o'clock, Mary is back in her room. Foreman and Chase are taking away Ivs, tubes and such.

"You're doing good." Chase smiles.

"Feeling okay?" Foreman questions.

"Yeah."

"You should be, your platelet count's up."

"How's your neck?" Mary moves it around. "Looks good. Anything else we can get you?"

"No thanks."

"Okay."

They start to leave when Mary calls out. "Yeah. Can I see my mom and dad?"

House watches Mary as she tells her parents what happened. Mary breaks down, and her mother gives her a hug. Chase walks up to House.

"Plasmapheresis is working, she's going to be fine."

"I know."

He walks away, leaving the Aussie teenager in the hall. The hospital staff is cleaning up. The epidemic is now over. At six thirty, House is in his office, sitting with Wilson and twenty-one-year-old Doctor Arlene Marks. No one is talking.

Dr. Marks finally breaks the silence. "I can't even tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to meet with you. The moment I heard you had another fellowship opening, I –"

"There is no opening."

Wilson sighs. "House, you have to hire someone."

"I know. The position's been filled."

Dr. Marks looks puzzled. "Why am I interviewing for a position that's already been filled?"

"Exactly." House gets up to leave.

"I called to confirm the interview this morning."

"You figure if you keep arguing I'm going to cave, admit it's all a lie, and hire you?" He leaves.

Wilson feels awkward. "Heh. Do you need your parking validated?"

House leaves the hospital and makes it to his car. Someone is sitting in the passenger seat and he exhales awkwardly before climbing into the driver's seat.

"Heard you were interviewing." Cameron speaks up. "I thought you'd just have them send a headshot along with their CV."

"Hah. That's good."

"I already a position somewhere else."

"With who?"

"Yule, at Jefferson."

"You won't like it there."

"Why not?"

"Because Yule is boring. He's pedantic and preachy."

"Do you know what I want?"

"Apparently a boss short than you."

"Dinner. And not just a meal between two colleagues. A date."

House stares at her. "You'll come back to work if I go out on a _date_ with you?"

"Yes."

House laughs acrimoniously. "Damn you have _the_ worst timing."

"What do you mean by that? I know you've said you don't like me that way, but"

"I can't rehire you."

"Yes, you can. I can turn down Yule."

"I can't rehire you." House repeats.

"Why not? It's not like you've already replaced" She stops, seeing his face. "You, you already hired someone else, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

"Petra Gilmar."

Cameron only nods, looking straight ahead. "How old is she?"

"Fifteen."

"Great." She smiles, though it is completely fake. "I'm happy for you. I'll, uh, I'll see you around."

Cameron quickly gets out of the car and starts walking home. She'd been anticipating House to say yes and drive her home, but that is now out of the question. House hits the window with his head, wondering what he's done this time.

 **Yeppers! It's more of this glorious noncanon goodness! There's still awhile left for season one. I'm assigning Petra's birthday now. It is July 31** **st** **. I suppose she's sort of an OC. I pretty much need to take everything from that two-minute interview in House's office and make her into a regular. I don't know for how long though, because Cameron** _ **really**_ **wants to work with House. Because she still thinks she can fix him. We'll see.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi, there! Okay: Recap time! House and Cuddy are 19; Wilson is 18 but about to turn 19; Foreman is 16; Chase and Gilmar's replacement Gilmar are 15. But Gilmar will turn 16 before Chase. This starts on June 20** **th** **, the day before the summer solstice, and the day before Wilson's birthday. I bring you 1.20 – Love Hurts.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

It is ten o'clock in the morning in the clinic. The overhead speaker is paging a Dr. Lee. Harvey, a young twentysomething man of Korean heritage, goes up to talk to Brenda.

"Will it be much longer?"

"We'll call you when we're ready."

"I've been waiting almost an hour."

"We'll call you when we're ready."

"I'm sorry." He starts to nervously pace around the clinic.

In Exam Room Two, House, Wilson, and some other teen guy are watching baseball on House's TV. House offers snacks to Wilson. The younger boy accepts.

"So who'd you hire? Is _she_ coming back?"

"Who's coming back?" The other guy asks.

"You don't know her." House rolls his eyes.

"You give her a raise? Increase her benefits?"

House doesn't want to talk about what went down in his car the other day. "Don't have TiVo on this thing, can't rewind. Shut up."

"You lower her hours?" The guy asks in a suggestive voice.

"You don't even know her."

Wilson looks back to House. "Who is this guy?"

"He's a patient."

"He's examining me."

"He's got to go back to work as soon as I'm done with the examination. Guess I do, too."

Wilson shakes his head. "It's got to be something. I mean, she didn't come back because she likes you." House gets a very wooden look on his face, and Wilson knows he's struck gold. "Wait a minute! She did come back because she likes you!"

"Heh heh! You dog! You slept with her!"

House glares at the other guy. "Keep talking. I'll finish your exam with a prostate check." He then faces Wilson. "She said she's come back if I take her on one date."

"What?!"

Both Wilson and the other guy look very excited. House is growing highly agitated.

"So, you in to this girl?"

"Yes –" Wilson starts to answer for his friend.

"No!"

House growls, slamming his cane against the counter. The other guy jumps in response, while Wilson now looks a bit puzzled.

"Young ingénue doctor falling in love with gruff, older mentor; her sweet gentle nature bringing him to a closer, fuller understanding of his wounded heart."

The other guy puts an arm around House's shoulders, no longer afraid since Wilson is mocking him. "Do her, or you're gay."

Wilson has a contemplative look on his face from that one. House, for once, wants to be serious and Wilson is acting immature. He shuts off his TV and grabs it.

"For God's sake."

As he leaves through the door, Wilson and the patient are singing off-key. "Sitting in a tree, K-i-s-s-i-n-g."

"Grow up. And learn to harmonize." He shuts the door and runs into Harvey, who spills an open cup of liquid on him. "Damn it!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Who the hell walks around with an open urine sample?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't, uh, I didn't…"

He backs away from the angry teen with the cane. Wilson walks out of the exam room, no longer mocking his friend.

"You think that was a bit of an overreaction?"

House only scowls. "Well, he peed on me. I'm not into that."

Wilson sniffs House's jacket and flinches. "I have a shirt you can borrow in my office. "Now go find that man and apologize. One more patient complaint and you're looking at a suspension."

Wilson then takes House's TV and goes back into the exam room. Harvey is leaning against a glass wall and breathing heavily. House walks up to him.

"I forgive you for ruining my jacket." Harvey doesn't move. "Look, you seem like a regular kind of guy, not the type to get another regular guy into trouble, am I right?" It sounds like Harvey is sobbing, and House rolls his eyes. "Twenty bucks cash if you'll stop crying. Forgive me, yell at me, just give me something I can work with, okay?"

He grabs Harvey's shoulder, and turns him around to reveal Harvey is not doing well at all. He quickly checks his pulse and flashes a light in his pupils, which are blown. Wilson shows up.

"Game's over. You two make nice?"

"Get a wheelchair, and get this guy into the ER."

"What happened?"

"Right pupil's blown."

"Holy… you gave the guy a stroke?"

At eleven thirty, Chase and Foreman are in the Diagnostic office. Chase is playing with a small ball he's brought in as he finishes up a joke he's telling Foreman.

"So the bear wipes himself with the rabbit." He throws the ball to Foreman.

"Lame." He throws the ball, which is caught by Gilmar, walking in the door.

"Hey!"

Foreman waves.

"What are you doing here?" Chase is confused as to if this girl is the Cameron replacement.

"I work here. Petra Gilmar. Dr. House's new fellow."

"What, here in this office?"

"House practically _begged_ me to come."

"Then why'd you do it?" Chase can't help but ask.

House enters with Wilson, no longer wearing his shirt and jacket but an ironed button-down. "Cause this is the happiest place on Earth. Twenty-one-year-old male, comes in with grinding of the teeth."

Wilson adds on. "And House gives him a stroke, totally blows out his pupil."

"You scared a guy into stroking out?" Foreman gawks.

"Does that surprise anyone here?" Wilson asks, eyes falling on Gilmar.

She speaks up. "Blown pupils usually means brain stem edema."

"Sure, but since he's not dead or in a coma, I'm going with stroke to the optic nerve." House puts up scans on the light board. "CT scan shows two things."

Foreman looks. "Ischemia. Death of brain tissue. Means there's been some damage, hopefully not permanent."

"And?"

"That's it. There's nothing there to tell us what the underlying cause is. We've got to do an MRI."

"You're looking at the wrong part of the scan."

"I'm looking at the brain, what else is there?"

"The jaw." Gilmar points out.

Chase is confused. "The jaw tells us why he stroked?"

Gilmar shakes her head. "No, the jaw tells us why we can't do an MRI. Unless we want his jawbone flying across the room."

House nods. "Metal plate. He's had major reconstruction and there's no way we're removing it, so we're forced to be clever. Angiogram to rule out vascultis, EMG for peripheral neuropathy, tox screen to eliminate drugs, an echo to rule out cardiac emboli."

As soon as the three of them are in the hallway, Chase turns to Gilmar. "Really. Why'd you want to get hired?"

"No reason you'd be interested in."

Foreman wants to weigh in. "So it's not money, then? Office space, insurance, parking… anything he could offer you, we'd be interested in."

"Even if he agreed to go on a date with me?"

Foreman looks at Gilmar incredulously. "A date? Date, dinner and a movie, naked and sweaty date?"

"If he doesn't fall asleep after the first two."

"It's a big mistake." Foreman shakes his head.

"It's my boss. I'm _allowed_ to sexually harass my boss. I'll arrange for the EMG," She faces Chase, "you want to set up the angiogram, and" She looks to Foreman, "you get the blood samples, patient history, patient consent?"

Gilmar leaves behind a smirking Foreman and a faintly disgusted Chase. Foreman is the only one to speak up. "Like watching an accident about to happen."

In Harvey's room, and eighteen-year-old girl is sitting with him. Foreman enters.

"Morning! Well, afternoon, anyway. Harvey, I'm Dr. Foreman. I'm here to discuss your case."

"I'm Annette, I'm Harvey's friend."

"Nice to meet you. I need your next of kin, you didn't fill that out on your intake form."

Harvey looks to Annette, and she speaks for him. "Harvey's parents are dead. They died two years ago in a car crash."

"I see. So, Harvey, you have any siblings?"

Annette speaks again. "No, and no grandparents or uncles or aunts."

"Annette, I don't want to have to ask you to leave."

"I want her to stay." Harvey's voice comes out raspy.

"Well, she can stay. You do the talking. Why'd you come to the clinic this morning?"

"Uh, about six months ago, I started grinding my, my… you know, in your mouth, you get, you chew with them…"

"Teeth." Annette chimes in. "Harvey's experiencing a little nominal aphasia, you know, when you can't remember nouns."

"Yeah, I think I know what nominal aphasia is. Have you had any treatment for the teeth grinding?"

"I went to a, you know, they do that thing with sharp, uh, pointy things."

"Needles? Someone took your blood."

"No, they make you breathe."

"Pulmonologist."

"No, she had this, uh, electrical machine…"

Foreman sighs and looks to Annette.

She smiles triumphantly. "He saw an acupuncturist."

"Uh huh." He turns to Annette again this time. "Do you know what the acupuncturist did?"

"She diagnosed Liver Qi stagnation and sent Harvey to a Shen balancer. He referred him to a homeopathic doctor who sent him to chiropractor."

"Naturally."

"Well, the chiropractor thought it might be food sensitivity and sent Harvey to a naturopath."

"The naturopath sent me back to the…"

"Back to the acupuncturist." Foreman fills in.

"Yes."

"Okay. Well, we'll need to see the records from all of those, uh, practitioners."

"Thanks."

Foreman leaves and meets Chase in the hall. Chase is looking in the room oddly. Foreman grabs his attention. "Everything set for the angiogram?"

"Gilmar's got the EMG first. Who's that?"

"Harvey's guru."

Chase stifles a laugh. "That's what she called herself?"

"That's what she acted like."

Foreman walks away. Annette looks out the window and sees Chase; Chase looks away like a bashful schoolboy getting caught. In an exam room, where the nurses are setting up a patient for a pelvic exam. House walks in but does a double take when he realizes said patient is at least seventy. She catches him before he can run off.

"Hi. I'm Ramona. I'm having vaginal pain."

"Pleasure to meet you." He pops a Vicodin.

"My OB/GYN died recently. He's a nice man. Warm hands."

House sits on a stool and puts on rubber gloves. "Not anymore. So, does it hurt when you tinkle?"

"Yeah, it's when it's worse."

House performs the exam. "You have some vaginal tearing. No sign of brusing, no indication of trauma, forced entry… Ramona. You naughty girl. You've either got yourself an eighteen-year-old boyfriend or an eighty-year-old with some little blue pills."

"Myron thought he'd just try them out!"

"Lucky you."

"I guess."

"Prefer it if Myron was a little droopier?"

"Maybe a little. We used to hold hands, read together, or watch _Jeopardy!_ I haven't seen _Jeopardy!_ in almost a month!"

House goes for the big question. "Have you talked to him about this?"

Ramona laughs. "You try talking a seventy-three-year-old out of sex. With all these male enhancements the pressure to put out's incredible. It's worse than high school. He doesn't get what he wants from me, he'll get it from Connie in the corner condo. She's dying her hair red! Major league slut."

House and the attending nurse share a look. "Here's a prescription for vaginal estrogen suppositories. It'll help with the lubrication."

"Thank you. Maybe you could give Myron a prescription. Something weaker than he's got now? Tell him it's better for his heart – he'd buy that."

"You can't tell him the truth, so you want me to lie to him?"

"Would you?"

"Close your legs."

In Harvey's room, Gilmar is preparing the EMG.

"Nerves stimulate muscles to move by creating a small electrical current. The machine will measure that. And I will insert this needle into various muscles and ask you to flex. Sometimes it can be painful. Let me know, and I can pull back –"

"No." He answers immediately and then sighs. "I mean, it's okay."

"Okay. Put your arm out to the side." Harvey extends his right arm, and Gilmar sticks the needle into his upper arm. Harvey sighs, and the arm begins to twitch. "Doing good?"

"I'm good. You don't have to stop."

"Wasn't planning on it." Gilmar smirks. "Raise your arm up over your head."

She takes the needle out of his upper arm and moves it to his forearm. Harvey almost smiles.

Not long after, Gilmar returns to the team in the conference room. "The EMG was clean."

House frowns. "Well, based on this history it's either toxic herbs from the homeopath, spinal damage from the chiropractor, infection from the needle that the acupuncturist accidentally let sit in eye of newt, or the Shen balancer. What the hell is a "shen" and how come it's lopsided?"

Foreman groans. "The only abnormal test result we found was on the echo report. Mitral valve prolapse."

"Hang up a shingle and condemn the narrowness and greed of Western medicine, and you'd make a damn fine living."

"Clot's formed on a faulty valve, gets sent to the brain, voila! Stroke."

House scoffs but Gilmar beats him to the punch. "Of course, no harm, no foul. It's just taking a few bucks from superstitious idiots, right?"

Chase smirks. "Could also be an aneurysm due to trauma."

Foreman shakes his ehad. "Trauma? From what, the chiropractic treatments? It's bacterial endocarditis, an infected valve. We should do blood cultures."

House rolls his eyes. "Except the six months that he had with these charlatans might have been spent going to someone who looks at things that exist in the real world. But that's just me being all narrow again."

"I noticed a small bruit when I listened to Harvey's left carotid." Chase mentions. "You could hear that if you had an aneurysm from trauma."

Gilmar chews on her bottom lip. "Aneurysm would have shown on the angiogram."

"No, not necessarily."

"Hmm. Quite a dilemma." House responds as he picks up a magic 8-ball. "Oh, great pool hall oracle, grant me guidance." He shakes it. "Do we go with Foreman's theory, which is at least marginally supported by medical test results, or Chase's theory, which is completely unsupported by medical evidence. What to do…"

Chase groans. "The guy obviously broke his jaw somehow. Who knows what other trauma he's suffered? We should do the angiogram again."

"And all signs point to…" He looks at the 8-ball. "Sorry, Chase. The gods have spoken. Start Harvey on blood thinners and antibiotics."

The ducklings set out to Harvey's room at two o'clock, and Chase cuts the silence. "Wow. Yeah, I get it. House is adorable. I just want to hold him and never let go."

Gilmar just rolls her eyes and opens the door to find Annette strangling Harvey. Foreman immediately gains to the bed, while Chase and Gilmar look on.

"Oh, my God! What the hell are you doing?" The tall sixteen-year-old pulls Annette away. "You're choking him!"

"Foreman, stop." Chase calls to him. "Let her go."

Foreman is holding Annette. "She was trying to kill him!"

"No. No, she wasn't." Gilmar shakes her head with a bit of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Please. Please don't hurt her." Harvey pleads as Annette maneuvers away from Foreman.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

"She's a dominatrix." Chase and Gilmar announce simultaneously.

To say Foreman is shocked is an understatement. He informs House and Cuddy. This results in the latter two having a meeting in Cuddy's office with a lawyer and Annette three hours later, at five o'clock. Cuddy is behind her desk. House is leaning against it. Annette is seated and the lawyer is pacing the floor.

"The patient _asked_ you to strangle him?"

Annette speaks calmly. "Harvey is an asphyxiaphyliac. He likes to be strangled or smothered."

"That's just sick."

"Well, that's an intriguing legal opinion." He whispers to Cuddy, "Geez, what kind of a lawyer is he?"

"You want a legal opinion? Call the cops."

Annette cuts in. "I was careful. I watched the monitors, made sure his O2 stats were over 90. I would never hurt him."

"Then what was the point?" House questions.

"Harvey was upset. He needed to calm down. To feel in control by being controlled."

"Eh.. um… He pays you for this?"

Annette nods and smiles. "In return, he does my taxes and cleans my house."

House gets up to leave, but Cuddy shouts after him. "We're not done here, we have to talk!"

House shrugs. "Call the cops, bar her from the hospital, force her to pierce your nipples… not really medical decisions."

He can hear Cuddy's flustered stuttering as he makes his way out of the office and the clinic. He honestly doesn't care one way or the other, so long as no one tries to kill his patient. In the diagnostics office, Foreman is drinking his coffee and going through a crossword puzzle while Gilmar and Chase are having an animated conversation about their experiences with dominatrixes. Gilmar has been revealing her past, and she had acted as a dominatrix last year to earn money for the early admittance med school exam.

"So, how about you?"

"So I had this fake ID, right? It was last year too. I was going to this bar a lot and this twenty-two-year-old woman, she worked at a bank. I was dating her awhile, and turns out she liked to be burned."

"You actually dated someone who likes to get burned?" Chase nods at Gilmar's interest.

"That's so cool. What happened between you two?"

Chase bites the inside of his cheek. "We were close to having sex and I forgot about my shit on my bed. She saw my student ID and I couldn't do anything else. She gave me a sort of lecture and left. It was bad."

"Damn, Chase. I feel for"

House suddenly walks in, cutting her off. "Chase. Did you know about this woman? What she does?"

"I met her at some parties, yeah." He answers evenly.

"I wouldn't have tortured you if I knew you liked it." Chase laughs a bit. "Well, here's a phrase to remember: "Hey, this guy might have been pounded on the head one too many times!""

"I said I thought it was a trauma-induced aneurysm. "

"Yeah, could have carried a tad more weight if you'd mentioned the "liking pain" thing. You're on my naughty list. Sorry, no leather stethoscope this Christmas."

"I'm not into –"

"I assume you never started him on antibiotics or blood thinners before Mistress Ilsa's rude interruption."

"It was probably a good thing." Foreman comments.

"Start him on antibiotics and blood thinners."

House watches as an older gentleman walks into his office. He continues watching the man as he and the ducklings talk.

"You still think Chase is wrong?"

"No, he's probably right."

Chase breaks in. "Then we should schedule him for vascular surgery. Go into the carotids, find the aneurysm, repair it."

"If we put him on blood thinners, he might bleed out." Foreman argues as well.

House nods. "But if _Foreman's_ right about it being bacterial endocarditis, and we –" He stops as Foreman raises his hand.

"I think Chase is right."

"Okay, if Foreman _used_ to be right about it being blood clots, and we take the surgery route, then we'll probably kill the guy. So, start him on blood thinners, and if he has another stroke, then we'll schedule the surgery." He watches the ducklings leave and then gets up to open the door to his office as the older man wanders in. "Yeah?"

"You Dr. House?"

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this, but yes."

"Ramona said I should come to you for my refill." He holds up a pill bottle. "Uh, with, for the beginning to droop?" He elaborates by demonstrating with his finger. House takes the bottle. "She said you'd probably want to talk to me first."

"She lied." House responds, handing Myron a script. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

"Always happy to make people happy. Goodbye."

Myron doesn't leave, though. "I – I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"How much more of what?"

Myron looks around for prying eyes and then whispers, "Sex."

House raises an eyebrow. "You don't want more sex?"

"My golf swing is all messed up."

House resists the urge to smack his head against the wall. "Hey, here's a radical thought. Talk to her."

"The truth?"

"Sounds crazy when you put it like that."

"Oh, Ramona's got a big appetite. If I don't perform, I don't want to lose her." He sighs, eying the paper. "You got a pharmacy around here?"

House mock gasps. "In the hospital? Could be. Let's see if we can find it."

At a little after seven, House walks up to find his favorite pharmacist. He motions for Myron to wait by the clinic desk.

"Got any blue pills?"

The twentysomething man raises his eyebrows. "You looking for ED medication?"

"Well, that's _one_ example of a blue pill. Name six others."

The pharmacist scratches his head. "There's a brand of acetaminophen out…"

"Perfect. Fill her up."

House nods to Myron, who wants to look anywhere else, just as Cuddy walks up.

"Dr. House."

"Little busy here."

"I heard about Dr. Gilmar's conditions for coming to work for you."

"It's purely business. I'll make sure you get the recipt."

Cuddy only smiles. "Well, I think it's a good thing. What happened in your last relationship, it's no reason to wall yourself from people forever. 5 years of self-pity is probably enough."

House balks. "Wow. Well, you've certainly given me a lot to think about. If only I was as open as you."

"Well…" Cuddy trails off.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, _my_ patient has a date with some little blue pills."

Cuddy ignores him. "Bear in mind Gilmar's probably the only female that can tolerate you. Wear the sky-blue shirt. It almost makes you look nice."

"Nice?"

Later, House has dismissed Myron with the pills. Around eight-thirty, Chase is in the room, checking up on Harvey. The twenty-one-year-old glances up to the fifteen-year-old.

"They said she couldn't come back into the hospital. They won't let me see her."

"Dude, you're lucky she wasn't arrested. What were you thinking, doing that at a hospital?" Chase shakes his head, holding out his hands. "Squeeze my fingers?"

"I was scared." He admits, following the command.

"I need you to squeeze with both hands."

"I am."

Just a little past nine o'clock, the team is walking down the hallway.

"Weakness in his right arm and hand. Harvey's having mini-strokes; the blood thinners aren't making a difference."

House nods to Chase. "Stop the treatment." He then turns to Foreman. "Sorry, we tried your way, and you could not have been wronger."

"I said Chase was probably right."

"Oh yeah, we've all got perfect 20/20 hindsight. Get a hold of Main in vascular, see if his surgical dance card is free for tomorrow."

Chase and Foreman leave. Gilmar clears her throat, turning to House.

"About tomorrow night."

House scowls. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut."

"I didn't see any reason to. Where are we going? I want to make sure I dress appropriately."

"That would be army boots and t-shirt. It's the county paintball tourney. First prize is fifty bucks; I'll split it with you if you hold your end up."

"I'm not sure if that was the deal." _A touney's a tourney. And this spells humiliation._

"Relax. I made a reservation at Café Spiletto. Regarding wardrobe: are you too young to remember spandex?"

Gilmar smirks. "I'll figure something out."

Ten minutes later, Chase is talking to Harvey.

"The surgery will repair the damaged blood vessels in your neck and your strokes will stop."

"All this is because of the strangulation?"

"More like _strangulations_." He emphasizes on the plural form.

"My parents were right. I'm a loser. I don't know what to do." He cries, starting to panic.

"Harvey, calm down."

"I need to talk to Annette."

"You can do this on your own. Surgery's the only –"

Harvey cuts him off. "She hates me. I've been calling, I've been calling and she's not picking up."

"Harvey, you don't need –"

Harvey is fully crying now. "I can't, I can't."

Chase is baffled. He looks around, and walks to the side of the bed and leans down. He tries his hand at being commanding, attempting to channel his inner House. "

"Harvey, you will do what I say."

"I don't want surgery!"

"Sign the consent. Sign it!"

"I can't do anything. No surgery! No surgery! No surgery!" Harvey declines all and pushes the form away.

Around ten-thirty, the team is back in Diagnostics.

"We could give him anti-depressants, see if he changes his mind." Gilmar suggests.

"I already did." Chase huffs. "Mashed them up in his applesauce, it'll lighten him up soon enough."

"Someone should just tell him to do it. Way faster." House groans.

"Except that's forgery." Foreman comments. "Also illegal."

Chase raises his hand. "And I already tried."

"Not you." House shakes his head. "Where's a good dominatrix when you need one?"

"Annette's barred from the hospital." Chase reminds him.

"If you get caught, Cuddy's got a hairbrush. And believe me, she knows how to use it."

Later, at half an hour to midnight, Gilmar and Chase are quietly ushering Annette into Harvey's room. He looks up in shock and awe.

"They let you come back."

Annette instantly frowns. "Not because you deserve it. You've been bad. You will have the surgery, do you understand?" Harvey just smiles but Annette doesn't understand. "Do not laugh at me. You will respect –"

Harvey immediately rises in his bed, scowling at her. "Where do you get off telling me what to do? Get out of my way, you back-faced witch."

Chase quietly whispers to Gilmar. "Is that part of their deal, or…"

Annette looks back to them. "This isn't like him. Something's wrong."

Harvey starts groaning, shoving Annette away. "Get out! Get out!" Chase and Gilmar move to hold him down. "Get out, get out!" Harvey repeats, knocking over the tray with dishes on it before Chase and Gilmar get his arms.

Gilmar makes quick notes. "Emotional swings, he's having another stroke. Harvey!"

The monitors beep and Harvey's eyes roll up. Chase shouts out to the nearly empty halls. "He's crashing. Can we get a cart in here?"

The next morning, around seven o'clock, a lawyer, House and Cuddy are in the latter's office.

"So, what's that, two strokes you've scared this guy into?"

"Yeah. It's making me question my view of myself as a people person."

The lawyer ignores him. "Now you want to do surgery on him without his consent."

Cuddy gawks. "The kid's in a coma, he needs the surgery!"

"He said no. We can't do it."

House raises his voice. "Emergent situation, invoke heroic measures."

"You need a court order."

"Great, where do I get me one of them? Do I need to lawyer up?"

"I'll need to show the judge an affidavit from next of kin."

"Well, they might have a problem signing anything seeing as how they're dead."

"He'll want proof."

"Like what, dad's hand? I don't even know where they're buried."

"Bring me a published obit or a death certificate and we'll run with it. I don't want you to mess up your clothes."

Immediately after, House pages his team. Within minutes, he and the team are walking in the hallway. They're discussing the obituaries.

"His parents were accountants, maybe there's an obit in the trade papers." Gilmar suggests.

"The guy lives in Market Town." Chase raises a point. "I don't know if he grew there, but we could check the local funeral home."

"Great, and when your searches turn up nothing you should try to find out where they live."

Foreman stops in his tracks. "He said they were dead."

"Accountants, they're usually pretty good with money, so how come he lives in a slum like Market Town?"

"Maybe they were _bad_ accountants." Foreman tries.

"Two bad accountants from the Pacific Rim? The odds are astronomical."

"Maybe Harvey burned through their money." Chase opts for an out.

Gilmar scoffs, realizing House must be right. "Or maybe they cut him off when they found out about his proclivities."

"That'd be my bet. Go to his apartments. See if you can find his folks. Address, number, something." House walks into his office, but Foreman follows him.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

"Sure." House answers as he sets up his portable television with no actual interest in talking to the younger teenager.

"Look, Gilmar's a friend. This whole dating thing – I've been on the scene more than you recently."

"Way ahead of you. I've got a case of malt liquor stashed in the trunk, Panic on the CD, we are gonna get all the way down. Now move."

Foreman sits on House's desk, blocking the TV, which was not what House had in mind. "Come on, you're not into her. Most guys who aren't interested in a woman try to sugarcoat it, be nice."

"Oh, you know me too well."

"That's what I'm saying. I think you should go with your instincts here. Be a jerk."

"I'm missing my show for this?"

"Women love to be right. You've got to leave them feeling superior. Like they've dodged a bullet. If you're nice, she'll blame herself –"

"And fall for me even more. The Love Doctor has made an art of breaking up with women. 'Cause you're convinced that the loss of you would be too devastating for any woman to handle."

Foreman laughs. "Yeah, _I'm_ the one with the serious ego problem here. I'm just saying: some relationships aren't meant to happen."

Foreman leaves House to watch his show. By the time he's thirty minutes invested in it, Chase and Gilmar are going through Harvey's apartment.

"Harvey's school registration." Gilmar reads from a paper on the cluttered desk.

Chase is going through a closet. "Permanent home address? Emergency contacts?"

"Annette Raines."

Chase finds collars and a slew of Tic Tacs in the closet "Mistress Annette. You have to extort a date out of House. You think that's a bad sign? Gilmar?"

Gilmar picks up a book, raising an eyebrow seeing Chase will all the collars. "High school yearbook. Think this might give us a clue, Sherlock? And why not snag a collar for later? Nevre know why."

Chase takes a couple packs of Tic Tacs, sliding them into his pocket. He contemplates taking a collar but he ultimately decides against it. He joins Gilmar on the edge of the bed, leafing through the book.

"House isn't going to hand you anything. You want him, you've gotta take him. Jump him."

"I intend to."

It is ten o'clock in the morning, and Foreman, Gilmar, and Chase are calling different families that they think might belong to Harvey. House is working with his yo-yo, wishing Wilson were in here helping instead of working with the little bald kids.

"Harvey." Foreman repeats. "H-a-r-v-e-y."

"I'm sorry to have bothered you." Gilmar sighs; rejected again. "Thank you. Okay."

"Yes, Harvey Park." Chase pauses. "Great, we've been looking for you! I'm calling from the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Harvey's here, and it's rather… He hung up."

"You tell him why you were calling?" Gilmar asks.

"I didn't get a chance."

"Call back."

"I'll do it." House flicks the yo-yo in Chase's face. "Let the master show you how it's done." Chase takes a few Tic Tacs as House dials. "Mr. Park? This is Dr. House calling from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey. Your son Harvey is dead. We need you to identify the body. Yes, I'm sorry, it's the law."

When he hangs up, Foreman is shocked, Chase rolls his eyes, and Gilmar is grinning. House hangs up and steals the mint box from Chase. "There's a real art to delivering bad news."

"They're gonna show up at the morgue." Foreman points out.

"Be sure to let me know when Cuddy starts screaming."

Chase takes the second mint box from his pocket and eats a few more. At eleven-thirty, Cuddy is in her office along with the lawyer from before and an upset Mr. and Mrs. Park. House's attendence has been requested. Soon as he steps inside, Cuddy yells at him.

"You lied to them!"

"He told us our son was dead." Mrs. Park nods.

"It's only a white lie. Technically, all I did was call them a little early. Trust me, he'll be dead real soon. Actually, I saved you some rush hour traffic."

"I'm calling our lawyer."

"Fine. Just as soon as you sign this surgery consent. I have a pen."

Mrs. Park takes out her cell phone and dials. She ignores House, speaking into the phone. "Marilyn Park for Mark Lerner. Yes, I'll hold."

Cuddy doesn't understand. "Harvey's your son. I'm sure you still care about him."

Mr. Park shakes his head. "He humiliated us. Everybody we know knows about his perversion."

"But you don't get off on embarrassment the way your son does. I guess it skips a generation."

"How much money would it take to compensate you –"

"Yeah, you guys can haggle in a minute." House rolls his eyes. "But here's the thing. Humiliation comes in all kinds of packages. People finding out that your son's a perv, that's pretty high up there. People finding out that you'd rather let your son die than sign a piece of paper, where's that rank? And trust me, if I have to paste up a sign in every nail salon and dumpling shop in Pennsylvania, I'll make sure they know."

He again offers them a pen. Marilyn Park turns off her phone and signs the paper.

"Your son will be in surgery first thing in the morning. Dumplings, that was a cheap shot." He gratefully leaves the office.

Gilmar is sitting at her desk close to noon. Wilson enters Diagnostics through House's office.

"Hi. Are you, uh, can we talk?"

Gilmar rolls her eyes. "Gee, I wonder what this is going to be about."

"I just want to make sure no one gets hurt."

"I will be fine. Everybody's acting like I'm going out with Jack the Ripper."

"Oh, it's not you I'm worried about." Gilmar stares at him and he continues. "It's been a long time since he opened up to someone, and I…" His voice trails off, but when it comes back, it's stronger and more protective. "You better be absolutely sure you want this because if he opens up again and gets hurt, I don't think there's going to be a next time."

"You're worried _I'm_ going to break _his_ heart?"

House and Wilson drive up to House's apartment for their one o'clock lunch. He's trying – without much success – to put on a tie. Wilson is watching from the couch.

"The wide side's too short. You're gonna look like Lou Costello."

"This is a mistake. I don't know how to have casual conversation. You think you're talking about one thing, and either you are and it's incredibly boring, or you're not because it's subtext and you need a decoder ring."

"Open doors for her, help her with her chair –"

"I _have_ been on a date."

"Uh, not since disco died." Wilson quips. "Comment on her shoes, her earrings, and then move on to D.H.A. Her dreams, hopes and aspirations. Trust me. Panty-peeler. Oh, and if you need condoms, I've got some."

"Did your fiancé give them to you?"

"Drug rep. They've got antibiotics built in, somehow."

"I should cancel. I've got a patient in surgery tomorrow." House moves to the kitchen.

"And if you were a surgeon, that would actually matter. That's a good idea, settle your nerves. Get me a beer, too."

House looks in the fridge and pulls out a box. "No beer."

"You're gonna eat before dinner?"

House ignores his friend, taking the box to the other side of the kitchen and rummaging through a couple drawers. After a couple minutes of silence, Wilson gets up to investigate. House keeps his back to him and Wilson wonders if he's stumbled onto something unnerving when he sees a glimmer of light. House finally faces his friend, holding out a red velvet cupcake with a lit candle in the center. Wilson gawks at it for a moment, and then he smiles.

"Thought you didn't believe in celebrating birthdays."

"Is it someone's birthday?" House questions. "This is for helping me with my tie."

Wilson only smiles more. He reaches for it in gratitude, but House wheels it away. Wilson frowns in confusion as House carries the dessert back to the living room and sets it on the piano. Still confused, Wilson follows his friend and sits back on the couch. House loosely plays a birthday-relvant melody and then turns to face his friend with the cupcake between them. Wilson reaches out again but House doesn't let him grab it.

"Uh-uh. What's the dessert rule?"

"You get first bite?" Wilson tries hopefully.

House smirks. "Not quite. It's the same rule as the first star."

"First star… you want me to make a wish?"

"Do you want the cake?"

Wilson grins again, his eyes dancing. He closes them briefly, making his wish. He proceeds to blow out the candle and once again reach for the sweet. House pulls away once more, to take a small bite. He finally lets Wilson have the treat. His best friend simply grins at the childish behavior, knowing House doesn't even like red velvet. After Wilson finishes the cupcake, it is time to head back to work. Wilson has a line of patients and meetings, while House and his team need to work out what to do about Harvey. The surgery isn't planned until the following morning, so the ducklings work through some clinic hours while House buries himself in his office with his Gameboy. Hours later, at seven o'clock, House and Gilmar are Greg and Petra. They are seated at a fancy table at Café Spiletto.

"You look very handsome."

"Thank you."

" I've always loved this restaurant."

"Yeah. It's changed a lot since the last time I was here. It used to be a strip joint." Petra laughs. "Nice earrings."

"My mom's." She touches them. "Thank you."

"Nice shoes. Comfortable?"

"I'm not expecting you to be someone you're not."

"We're in a restaurant, we're dressed up, we're eating. If not small talk, what is there?"

There's an awkward pause as Petra sets down the nonalcoholic drink list. "According to Freud, and I'm paraphrasing, instinct of love toward an object demands a mastery to obtain it, and if a person feels they can't control the object or feel threatened by it, they act negatively toward it. Like an eighth-grade boy punching a girl."

House raises an eyebrow. "I treat you like garbage, so I must really like you. Given your Freudian theory, what does it mean if I start being nice to you?"

"That you're getting in touch with your feelings."

"Hmm. So there's absolutely nothing I can do to make you think that I don't like you."

"Sorry, no. I have one evening with you, one chance, and I don't want to waste it talking about what dives you like or what movies you hate. I want to know how you feel about me."

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect. You don't love, you need. You're always looking for your new charity case. That's why you're going out with me. I'm not your age, I'm not great looking, I'm not charming, and I'm not even nice. What I am is what you need. I'm damaged."

He picks up his menu, leaving Petra to think. They eventually order, falling into meaningless chitchat over the ducklings, Wilson, Cuddy, gravediggers and gold diggers. After the meal, Greg drives Petra home. There is no goodnight kiss and he doesn't walk her to the door. Petra goes inside, ignoring the blanket-covered lump on the couch. She heads upstairs for a shower and then bed. She makes a point to look out the window, but Greg is gone from the driveway. He heads for home, grabbing a couple aspirin before falling asleep on the couch – just listening to static television to clear his mind.

At ten o'clock the next morning, Foreman and Chase are watching the surgery from the window. Gilmar walks up.

"Came in late." Foreman comments. "Had a good time last night?"

"How's the surgery going?"

"Harvey's doing fine so far." Chase lets her know. "How'd the night go?"

"It was fine, how was your evening?"

Meanwhile, House is talking to Wilson at the Diagnostics conference desk.

"She had the ravioli, and I had the puttanesca."

"Yes, I really want to know about the quality of the food. Either something very good happened, or something very bad. Which is it?"

"Well, I did have a little indigestion afterwards. Maybe it was the garlic bread."

Back to the ducklings, Gilmar is feeling testy about the questions.

"Or the wine. Something made my eyes puffy."

"Yeah. Crying in your pillow can do that."

Gilmar glares at Foreman. "It was the wine. We had a nice, candid conversation."

Back to House and Wilson; they're walking down the hall.

"Nothing deep, mostly small talk."

"I'm sure."

House raises his hands in surrender. "Took your advice, complimented her shoes, that's fifteen minutes of chat right there."

Back to the ducklings, Chase speaks up. "No snide comments?"

"I guess, when we talked about you guys."

House and Wilson are now by the vending machine. Wilson and Chase have one thing to ask.

"Just answer one question: You two going to do dinner again?"

"I don't think so." House answers honestly.

"I don't know." Gilmar contemplates.

Gilmar's thoughts are cut short as the surgeon calls up from the OR floor. "Hey kids, you were wrong. No aneurysm, no nothing. This guy's clean."

At noon, the team is seated at the white board. Chase is finishing up a thought.

"… which means we've got no idea what's causing the strokes."

Foreman scoffs. "He's had two more post-op. We won't know the extent of the damage until he comes out of the coma. If he comes out."

Gilmar speaks out. "Maybe we should go back to the blood thinners, up the dosage."

"If it's not clots, a loading dose of blood thinners is gonna make him bleed out of his ears. Then he won't be able to hear." Myron and Ramona appear and tap on the glass of Diagnostics. "Oy ve. Nobody home, leave a message!"

"This is important!" Myron shouts.

House rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. "Chase, Gilmar, get another angiogram and echo. Better get a full-body scan. If it is clots, it'd be good to know where they are."

They all file out of the office, and House reluctantly goes to talk to Myron and Ramona. "Sorry about that. Guy dying."

"Those pills you gave Myron, they're not working." Ramona complains.

"Well, glad to see you've got the correct perspective on the thing."

Myron is upset as well. "Well, the old ones, you know, made me feel like a tree!"

"Nice visual."

"The new ones, well, might as well be eating candy."

House shakes his head. "Candy wouldn't take away your headaches."

"What?" Ramona questions.

House decides to just get it all out in the open. "You came to me and told me that you were having too much sex."

"I never did!" Ramona crosses her arms.

"You too, Sequoia."

"Well no, that's not true, I…" Myron trails off.

"I know that everybody lies, but you'd think that after a certain amount of time together you wouldn't be trying so hard." He notices Myron fidgeting with his wedding ring, and he glances over to Ramona's ring as well. "Your rings don't match."

Ramona laughs. "What, well, why would they?"

"Well, style is one thing, but one silver, one gold? How long have you guys been married?"

"Forty-nine years." Ramona answers as Myron says, "Fifty-five years."

House growls more to himself than anyone. "Damn it, you're having an affair."

Ramona ignores him, turning to Myron. "Did you really say you wanted to have less sex?"

"Well, less. If I wanted none I'd stay home with Esther."

"I just need a little rest."

House shouts at them, unable to hold it in. "You guys aren't the victim of the little blue pill; you're the problem!"

"I'm sorry." Myron holds Ramona's hand.

"Me, too. I should just have told you how I felt." He takes out a breath spray and spritzes some in his mouth.

"Oh, welcome to hell."

House closes his eyes as Myron and Ramona start making out in front of him. And it hits him. He snatches the Tic Tacs he took from Chase out of his pocket and starts to walk off.

"Hey, how 'bout the pills?" Myron calls out.

"Looks like you guys are good to go drug-free for a while."

At one o'clock, House corners Chase in the clinic. He is eating more Tic Tacs.

"Dr. Chase, these breath mints you've been popping since yesterday. Are they a new fetish?"

"Oh, I got them at Harvey's. What, I just took two boxes; the guy's got a whole drawer of them!"

House glares at him, literally backing him into a wall. "And you didn't find that interesting."

"Well, there's, um… there's l-lots of, err… interesting stuff at his place." He gulps, wondering when Tic Tacs became so important. "The mints weren't high up on the list."

"Wrong."

Half an hour later, the team enters Harvey's room. House barges in and physically opens Harvey's mouth.

"Chase, get your nose in here."

"If you're trying to humiliate me, I told you –"

"Come on, just put your face in his mouth."

Chase does so, and then recoils. "Ugh."

"Rich, wouldn't you say?"

"Uh. Smells like old vomit."

"Number one sign of fulminating osteomylitis."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "Infection of the jaw?"

"Probably from the original break. Never healed properly. Infected tissue from the jaw breaks off, blocks blood flow to the brain, and life just isn't worth living without blood."

Gilmar nods. "It was hidden from the scans by the metal plate."

Chase understands as well. "And an infection of the jaw isn't likely to show up on blood tests."

Foreman looks to House. "So how do we confirm?"

"Like this." He immediately sticks a syringe in Harvey's jaw, pulling out pus from the infection. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have pus." He then hands the syringe to Chase, and takes the Tic Tacs from him, eating a few. "We're gonna remove the jaw. Anybody got a buzzsaw? Okay, call a surgeon."

The surgery occurs at three o'clock, with Gilmar, Foreman and Chase looking on. Harvey finally returns to his room, wrapped in many bandages – around five-thirty. A nurse is checking on things as House enters the room, shutting the door.

"Hi, I'm Dr. House. How's tricks, Annette?"

The nurse turns, flushed, and it is indeed Annette in nurse's scrubs. "I just wanted to see if he was okay. I'll leave."

"No, it's okay. I came to talk to you both. Like I tell all my patients, you've simply got to say "no" to strangulation. Me, I'm a freak, I get off on not being in pain. That, and chocolate-covered marshmallow bunnies."

"He's not a freak."

"Yeah, he is. A little. But it's got to stop. Or he'll die."

"It's not about pain. It's about being open, being completely vulnerable to another person. If you can learn to be that deeply trusting… it changes you."

"Well, lock him in a cage. That should be fine, medically."

"Dr. House." Harvey finally speaks up. "Were my parents here? Did they come to see me?"

Instead of answering, House just leaves. He grabs his things from his office, looking longingly at a certain photograph before setting it down and heading to Wilson's office. After work, House allows Wilson to drive him to his (House's) apartment for all-night videogames and Chinese.

 **Ahhh! Wilson has finally had his birthday. It only took 20 chapters. I was watching** _ **Dexter**_ **while typing out this last bit. It got me moving faster. Ah, well. Happy days, people.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey, you guys. This extra chapter is to make up for my constant procrastination. What's new this year? Um, I got fired from my job from procrastinating too much. I almost didn't write this one because it's kinda confusing. My best friend's cat Tobecky went missing. Her neighbor is pretty sure someone stole the cat, because that's been happening a lot with cats and dogs in the this city for the past half year. Her other cat Jabberwocky died in November from intestinal cancer. I'm working on scholarships because… well, I'm currently living in a rented room where my older sister and her husband live. It's sort of awkward. I'm now writing on a desktop computer made in 2003 with no access to Internet. I write, save on the flash, and take it to the public library to upload. Hope everyone's had great holidays despite hassles. Here's 1.21 – Three Stories. House, Cuddy and Wilson are all 19. Foreman is 16; Gilmar and Chase are 15. It takes place on Independence Day (July fourth).**

 **Notice from before stands to claim.**

Cuddy and House are arguing in the former's office. It's eleven in the morning. She's trying to haggle with him as he does't currently have a case.

"Dr. Riley is throwing up; he obviously can't lecture"

"You witnessed the spew, or you just have his word for it? I think I'm coming down with a little bit of the clap. I may have to go home for a few days."

Cuddy laughs. "Dr. Riley doesn't have a history of lying to me."

"You said this is the fifth time he's missed a class this year! Either he's dying or he's lying."

Cuddy presses on. "I'll give you two hours off clinic duty."

"Fine, I'll have Gilmar do it. She loves that inspiration crap."

"You'll do it."

House turns back. "Why is it always me?"

"Because the world hates you. Or because it's a class on diagnostics. Pick whatever reason feeds your narcissism better."

"I'm not doing it." He moves to leave, but he stops at the door and walks back in. "You're supposed to stop me. Renegotiate."

"Hmm, and you were supposed to keep on walking. Sorry, I guess we both screwed up. Go on, do it again."

"I'll do the lecture for four hours off clinic."

"Two. I know you'd rather spend a couple of hours listening to yourself than listening to patients. Class starts in twenty minutes."

House rolls his eyes and leaves into the lobby of the clinic. Nurse Brenda holds up a file, informing him that he's got a patient. He ignores it, though.

"I'm outta here, take it up with Cuddy."

"Greg."

A highly familiar voice causes House to turn at the clinic doors. A pretty brunette is waiting with a bunch of papers and x-ray films. She walks up to him with a smile, and House looks as though he were just run over by a bus.

 _Why is she here? Well, she's obviously here to see me, but why?_ "Hi, Stacy."

"How're you doing?"

 _How am I doing? We were neighbors, best friends, the closest we could be from toddlers to high school. Then you went and screwed me over._ "How am I doing? Well, the last five years have been like… you ever see those "Girls Gone Wild" videos?"

"Your life's been like that, or your life's been spent watching them?" Both kind of smile. "I have missed you."

House feels a mixed bubble of hope and resentment fill his chest. "Is that why you're here?"

Stacy shakes her head. "I need your help."

She hands him the films; and he limps over to the clinic desk to take a look. Sighing, he finally asks the question. "Who am I looking at?"

"My husband."

The bubble dissipates instantly. House decides not to let it show how bad that hurts. Not only did the love of his life abandon him five years ago, but she's already gotten married. "Who is suffering abdominal pain and fainting spells. No sign of tumors, no vasculitis. Could be indigestion, or maybe a kidney stone. A little one, can pack a lot of wallop."

"Did you think I wasn't going to get married?"

 _Damn it! Don't let her guilt you. Don't take this like a case. You don't need this._ "Not to someone so poorly endowed. This guy's pancreas is pathetic."

He walks off, and Stacy follows. "There is no kidney stone, no indigestion. Three hospitals, five doctors, not one of them found anything."

"Well, maybe there's nothing to be found."

"Right, you suddenly trust doctors, love puppies and long walks in the rain."

"The walks are out." He snarls, letting her know he still hasn't forgiven her.

Stacy grabs his arm. "I was around you long enough to know when something's not right. Mark's had personality changes, he's acting strange, disconnected…"

"Interesting. It means there's either a neurological component or he's having an affair."

"No affair, no nothing! He's sick! I know you're not too busy; you avoid work like the plague. Unless it actually is the plague. I'm asking you a favor."

House glares at her. "I'm not too busy, but I'm not sure I want him to live. It's good seeing you again."

He leaves, and Stacy is holding back tears. Come three o'clock, House is unwillingly in a lecture hall. He's sitting on the stage, not doing anything. There are maybe twenty high schoolers in the room, waiting for him to speak.

"Three guys walk into a clinic. Their legs hurt. What's wrong with them?" A student – with a nametag reading Ken– raises his hand. "I'm not going to like you, am I?"

"Most likely cause of leg pain is muscle strain. Apply heat and rest affected areas."

" _Statistically_ , you're right. Very good. My experience: over half of leg pain is musculoskeletal, generally from excessive exercise. Twelve percent is varicose veins brought on by pregnancy, and most of the rest is the result of vehicular accidents. I said three people. That's six legs. So, you've got three hurt jogging, two in collisions, and one of the legs is pregnant."

Some chuckles filter the room. Another student – with a nametag reading Karen – pipes up.

"What were they doing when pain presented?"

"I have no idea."

A third student – with a nametag reading Rebel – speaks up without raising his hand. "You didn't ask? You didn't take a history?"

"Of course, but all that told us was what they said happened. Person A, an older man farmer, says he was fixing a fence. Tightness of the ankle; loss of muscle control. Person B, some older girls'volleyball practice. Coach figured it was a pulled muscle. And C, we've got Carmen Electra. Golfing."

"Whoa, you treated the Baywatch chick?" Ken sounds excited.

"The Baywatch thespian." House corrects. "And no, I've gotta disguise the identity of each of the patients and I got tired of using middle-aged. Carmen seemed like a pleasant alternative. Also, she's apparently quite the golfer." He stands. "Now, in less than two hours, one of these three will get tossed out of the hospital because they were faking it to score narcotics, and one will be very close to death. Any guesses on which is which?" After a bout of silence, he carries on. "Okay, I say we start with the farmer."

In a clinic room, a middle-aged farmer is lying on the bed, looking very much… like a farmer. Straw in his mouth and everything. House is questioning him.

"Did you hike to the fence, and how far?"

"Yes, it's about half a mile from my farmhouse."

"And where's the pain localized?"

"It started just above my ankle and it's radiating up."

Bringing the teenagers in on the imagination spot, House turns to the three outspoken teenagers. "So, what should we do first?"

"Family history?" Ken suggests.

"Indicative of leg pain? That's a very short list." He turns to the farmer. "Any history of bone cancer, osteogenesis imperfecta or multiple myeloma?"

The farmer shakes his head, and Karen pops up. "Could be a blood issue. We should run a CBC and a D-dimer."

Rebel jumps in. "And get an MRI."

"MRI or a PET scan?" Karen raises an eyebrow.

"If the problem's vascular, he's better off –"

"Bzzt!" House mimics a buzzer. "Sorry, thanks for playing. Patient's dead. You killed him."

Ken frowns. "We had no time to run any tests; there was nothing we could do!"

"You had time to look at the leg." He rewinds the case, facing the farmer again. "I need you to take off your pants. The man takes off his overalls, claimbs onto the bed and looks worried. "Puncture."

Back to the classroom, Karen gasps. "Snakebite."

"That would be my guess."

Rebel scoffs. "Farmer didn't know he had been bit by a snake?"

"That's what he said. Sudden shooting pain, tall grass, never saw a thing."

"What kind of snake?" Karen questions.

"You want me to tell you what kind of snake it was from the shape of the hole in the leg?"

"How are we supposed to know what kind of antivenin to use if we don't know what kind of snake it is?"

House grins, delving back to the imagination spot. "Oh, there are people to find those things out."

Foreman and Chase are walking to the farm.

"Shouldn't we wait for the Humane Society or something?" Chase questions.

"The guy might only have a couple of hours."

They open the gate, but close it again as a dog comes up barking at them. Back to the classroom, House uses the dog problem to segway to another clinic study. "And while we wait for the Humane Society to show up, what say we check up on the volleyball player?"

Cameron checks up on the volleyball woman. "You have tendonitis."

In the classroom, Karen has a question. "How old is this person? I mean, it's not really a forty-year-old woman on a girls' volleyball team, right?"

"It's a leg. A leg is a leg is a leg."

"Well, I was just worried that –"

"Would you worry about her _more_ if she was younger?"

Ken scoffs. "Obviously we should care about our patients no matter what age –"

"Yeah, right. I saw the way you were looking at Carmen. She's mine, stay away." Chuckles erupt from the class again. "Would you operate on your mother?"

"Of course not." Karen deflates. "I'd be too nervous; couldn't be objective."

"Then why are you so anxious to treat every patient like they're family? The actual patient is nine. Here's what happens when doctors care too much."

Back to Cameron, she's talking to the now-nine-year-old-female volleyball player. "I need to know everything about you." The imagination spot then cuts to Cameorn talking to House in his office. "I went back three generations: no history of cancer, Parkinson's, or any other degenerative condition. But there's this boy at school, and he's on the boys' volleyball team, and they made out at a party, and now he won't call her back, and this friend of hers at school said this boy didn't like her and never did."

House blinks. "You got all this from an examination of the knee?"

"I think she's depressed."

"She doesn't have tendoni—"

"She has tendonitis."

"She's depressed about having tendonitis."

"She's depressed for the same reason she has tendonitis."

"Not the boy."

"No, the boy's a jerk, she knows that, and yet she's depressed. I found a nodule."

"Ah. Problems with the thyroid gland causes depressed mental state, can cause inflammation of the tendons."

Cameron nods. "I'll run the tests."

In the classroom, Karen stands again. "So, because she took such an extreme interest, she found out the person had a thyroid condition."

"No, because she took such an interest she discovered a tiny nodule. Which, in reality, signified nothing, but gave us no choice but to put a person with tendonitis through an expensive and painful test." He then segways to the Carmen Electra patient. "Here's how a well-adjusted doctor handles a case."

The imagination spot moves on to House, examining Carmen the golfer, who has no pants on. He hits her knee with a hammer.

"Can I put my pants back on now?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

Ken feels the need to ask. "Why isn't she wearing pants?"

House gives him a 'duh' look. He turns to Carmen. "You have decreased reflexes in your patellar tendon. Anyone?"

Rebel stands as Karen sits. "Slipped disc?"

"Could be. How bad does it hurt?"

Carmen deadpans. "It hurts really, really bad."

"Yeah?"

Karen raises a hand. "It doesn't seem real. Is she the one faking?"

"Oh, for God's sake. She's here to play out my fantasy, not because she's Meryl Streep." Karen and Carmen both give him a look. "Fine."

Carmen disappears, replaced by a fourteen-year-old boy.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" The kid rocks and clutches his right thigh. "Do something!" He then collapses on the table in pain.

"Too much pain to be a slipped disc." Karen shakes her head. "Could be herniated and impinging the nerve root."

"Or it could be referred pain from his groin." Ken suggests.

"Sir, are you getting pain anywhere else?" House questions, but the last part is almost drowned out.

Ken gawks. "He's curling; it's not the back."

"Where are you getting pain?"

"Help me!" He screeches.

"Oooh."

Rebel shakes his head. "He's not going to tell us anything if we don't get him out of pain. Give him 50mg of Demerol."

Karen stops him. "We have no history, he could be allergic."

House holds up the syringe. "What do I do?"

"We can't diagnose him while he screams." Rebel frowns.

Karen contemplates. "Better than killing him with pain killers, then"

While she is speaking, the boy grabs the syringe from House and sticks it in his leg.

"Apparently, he's not allergic."

"Thank you, I feel a lot better now."

The syringe drops from his hand. Back in the classroom, Karen pouts. "We screwed up."

"No, you did exactly what his attending did."

Rebel glances up. "And that was the proper way to handle the case?"

"Yeah."

Rebel is affronted. "The guy used him as a dealer!"

"You're going to see a lot of drug-seeking behavior in your practice, and there's a reason: it works. Meanwhile, back on the farm…"

Back on the farm, the Humane Society has caught a snake. Chase is on his phone. "Yeah, timber rattlesnake."

The imagine spot cuts to the farmer's hospital room. Gilmar is with the farmer. "Four vials of the CroFab antivenin. Hey, how you doing?"

"All right."

Gilmar takes the vial from the nurse. "Thank you. This will start making you feel better really fast." She starts to push the antivenin; five seconds after she starts the farmer starts to choke. "He's having an allergic reaction, bag." She starts to ventilate. "Paddles and epi."

"But his heart's fine—" The nurse frowns.

"It's not going to stay that way." Sure enough, the monitors start to beep.

As Gilmar shouts for paddles, House cuts the story short. Back in the classroom, there are more people than when he started.

"What say we take five? Get some coffee, go pee."

Without waiting for a response, he leaves for the lounge area outside the classroom. Wilson is waiting for him with a coke and a bag of chips, having heard about Stacey.

"You didn't think she was going to get married?"

"She asked me the same question."

"And… what? You're not gonna treat him?"

"There's probably nothing wrong with him."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Oh, sure, that makes sense. She's just using the old "sick husband" routine as an excuse to get back in touch with you. You think this is easy for her? The only reason she'd be anywhere near you was if she was desperate."

House stares back. "So I should help her because she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. She loves you, she just can't stand to be around you."

Ken shows up, breaking their talk. "Uh, Dr. House? It's been almost six minutes."

House silently thanks the interruption as the two head back to the classroom.

"Found him." Ken announces as House regains his spot sitting on the edge of the stage.

"The volleyball player was responding to the anti-inflammatories as you'd expect in a case of tendonitis."

Rebel waves his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What about the snakebite guy? I don't really care about the volleyball player."

"What if I told you the volleyball player had a sudden massive stroke?"

"Really?"

"No. But that would make you interested, right? What if her T4 came back low? It's not quite as interesting, but it has the benefit of being true."

"You said the thyroid biopsy was a wasted test."

"No, I didn't. I said she put a person with tendonitis through an expensive and painful test. Apparently the patient had tendonitis and a thyroid condition."

Cameron is talking to the volleyball player. "We're going to start you on Thyroxin. It'll make you feel better and level your moods."

"Thank you." She kicks her legs and takes the pills.

Back to the classroom, Rebel is shocked. "So, that's it?"

"You were right the first time. Snakebite guy's way more interesting. Gross, actually."

The farmer's skin is now starting to rot and peel off. He looks like he's in a lot of pain. In House's office, the ducklings are gathered.

"The patient responded to epinephrine and the allergic reaction was arrested." Foreman mutters. "Unfortunately, the patient continues to deteriorate."

"Maybe the snake wrangler was wrong about the type he caught." Chase suggests.

"He faxed us the venom tests which confirmed it's a timber rattlesnake."

House looks at the tests. "No, it's not. Notice the volume?"

"I skimmed over that, the gender and the coloring and skipped right to the name of the snake."

"200mg. Our guy got bit less than four hours ago. There's no way a snake regenerates that much venom that quickly."

Back to class, Ken has a question. "We're supposed to know how fast snakes make their venom?"

"Nope. Unless you've got a patient bit by one. Then it might be helpful. So what do we do now?"

"He must have been bitten by a different snake." Karen stands. "We go back and find it."

"Or you go online and find there's only three poisonous snakes common in New Jersey: the copperhead, the timber rattler, and the coral. The copperhead and the timber rattler both respond to the antivenins we gave the guy."

She nods. "So we give him the antivenin for the other one."

"Is that a question?"

Ken scowls. "Well, we can't just blindly give him another antivenin. Especially after the first one almost killed him. You said only three types of poisonous snakes commonly found in New Jersey. But what if this is an uncommon one?"

"Very good."

"We've gotta find the right snake."

"No need. Odds are, by the time you get back the autopsy results will tell you what kind of snake it was."

"But you said –"

Karen cuts Ken off. "So we do give him the antivenin for the other one."

"Again, was that a question? I asked what you would do. It seems unfair for you to ask me what you would do. Who gives the guy the other antivenin?" Half of the class raises their hands. "And who goes looking for the snake?"

Rebel stands. "I assume that one choice kills him and one saves him."

"That's usually the way it works at the leg turning black stage."

"So half of us killed him and half of us saved his life." Karen sighs.

"Yeah."

Ken grimaces. "But we can't be blamed for –"

"I'm sure this goes against everything you've been taught, but right and wrong do exist. Just because you don't know what the right answer is – maybe there's even no way you could know what the right answer is – doesn't make your answer right or even okay. It's much simpler than that. It's just plain wrong."

In the farmer's room, the team is standing by the bed as Foreman is about to push the antivenin.

"We gave the guy the antivenin."

"What if I'm allergic again?" The farmer questions.

"That's why these people are here." Gilmar assures him. "If you have a reaction, we're ready to do whatever's necessary to ensure your airway stays open and your heart keeps beating."

"My wife's on her way in, can't this wait?"

"I'm sorry, it can't."

Gilmar begins to inject the serum, and nothing happens. House nods, and leaves the room to be confronted by the fourteen-year-old boy.

"It hurts again."

Back to class, Karen sounds upset. "He came back?"

House takes some Vicodin. "On average, drug addicts are stupid."

Rebel frowns. "I'd call the cops."

"Good for you. A lot of doctors wouldn't risk their careers on a hunch."

"It's not a hunch, I mean, I know he wants drugs."

"I believe drug addicts get sick. Actually, for some reason they tend to get sick more often than non-drug addicts. Luckily, you don't have to play your hunch, there's a faster way. Actually, there are several. My preference is urine testing."

"But you already know he has drugs in his system."

"That's not what I'm testing for."

In another hospital room, the fourteen-year-old is lying in bed. House enters with a nurse. "We're going to put this hard, rubber tube up your urethra and into your bladder. It might be a little uncomfortable."

"Shouldn't I be getting some kind of anesthetic?" He then groans as the nurse does her job.

"We're concerned about allergic reactions today."

Back in the classroom, House is looking through the drawers of the desk in the room. "If the guy can handle a rod in his penis for half an hour, he's really sick."

Rebel scoffs. "Or he's really jonesing."

"There's easier ways to get a hold of drugs. Other hospitals, for example." He takes a mug out of the desk and sniffs it. House starts to walk off, raising his voice as he does so. "The volleyball player is not responding to treatment. At least we think it's not working on account of the fact she's getting worse. Can you still hear me?"

"No." Rebel rolls his eyes.

"A little." Karen looks around for him.

"Not really!" Ken shouts out.

House fills the mug at the water fountain, speaking to himself. "Well, if you can't hear me, how do you know what I asked?"

Cameron is preparing to insert an IV into the volleyball player. She yells. "I'm sorry. What did I do?"

"I don't know. It really hurts!"

"I promise to be very careful." She gets ready to insert the needle, and the player flinches and yells as soon as the needle touches her skin. "Susan!"

From the water fountain, House interjects, "Not her real name!"

The imagine spot kicks back up with the nine-year-old volleyball player. Cameron tries again. "Susan, I barely touched you!"

The child screams. "Aaaah! No, it hurts so much!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I have to get this blood. Just hold on."

The spot switches to the Diagnostic office.

"Hypersensitivity to touch."

Chase looks at her. "Her calcium up?"

"Lab over 16."

"The question is why." House cuts in. "Likely suspects?"

"Parathyroid adenoma." Chase throws out.

"Kidney problems." Cameron suggests.

"Vit. D intoxification." Foreman adds in.

"Hyperthyroid." Chase goes in.

Foreman looks back at him. "Caused by our treatment?"

House is back to the classroom. Karen is looking hectic. "Whoa whoa whoa. Can you please slow down?"

House takes a sip of water from the mug and spits it out. He stares at her a moment and then starts speaking slowly, as if to a five-year-old. "The adenoma is most likely." He dives back into the imagine spot, still speaking slow. "Check her PTH phosphorus, and ionized calcium, and do a technetium sestamibi. Okay, that's enough about the volleyball player. What's up with the farmer?"

The ducklings stare at him. Foreman speaks first. "What farmer?"

"Snakebite guy. Oh, right, you guys don't know about him. He doesn't get bitten until three months after we treat the volleyball player." House realizes he's screwing up his own imagine spot. "Luckily, it's been well established that time is not a fixed construct." He walks over to the white board, which now has writing on it pertaining to the farmer. "His condition's not improving; double the dosage."

"Already did." Foreman of three-months-later announces.

"There's another antivenin, it's not as effective, but –"

"Already tried it." Chase nods.

"The first stuff, the stuff he was allergic to –"

"Gave it to him with high-dose steroids. Nothing's working." Gilmar, now working for House instead of Cameron, concludes.

House comes back to, staring at the class. "What does it all mean?"

"Wrong snake?" Karen guesses.

"We tried every other antivenin we had."

"We're too late?" She gasps.

"Yep. He's dying. His wife's here, finally found a babysitter. Who wants to let him know? Actually, I'm kidding."

"He's not dying?"

"Oh, yeah, he's dying, but there's no wife and kid. Which is great. Makes the "breaking the news" thing way easier. Oh, yeah, one more piece of news."

He goes back to the fourteen-year-old boy. The catheter is now circulating a red liquid. "The drug addict is peeing blood."

House again leaves the classroom, announcing he's on a ten-minute bathroom break. It takes him ten minutes in the bathroom, plus a little extra longer as he grabs his backpack and fills it with a few things from the pediatric oncology ward. He returns to the classroom thirty minutes later than promised, and immediately takes out some yellow crayons. He's drawing something, and all the kids are watching. There's even more in the classroom than earlier.

"How do they teach you how to tell someone that they're dying? It's kind of like teaching architects how to explain why their building fell down. Do you roleplay and stuff?"

Ken nods. "Yeah, one of us gives the bad news and one of us gets the bad news."

"And what do you have to do to get an A in You're Dying 101? They grade you on gentleness and supportiveness? Is there a scale for measuring compassion?" Just talking about it makes him think of Wilson. "This buddy of mine, I gotta give him ten bucks every time somebody says "Thank you." Imagine that. This guy's so good, people thank him for telling them that they're dying." He stops and looks at his picture. "Eh, needs brown. I don't get thanked that often."

House returns to the farmer. "You're dying. In a few hours. There's nothing we can do except deal with the pain."

"Well, I need to go home." The farmer doesn't sound upset exactly; more like blah.

"You're not going home."

"Well, my dog? What will happen to my dog?"

In radiology three months earlier, Cameron and Wilson are performing a PET scan on the volleyball player.

Cameron nods. "Her neck looks clean. No adenoma."

In the class, Rebel shoots up. "Wait, wait, wait. The guy's dying and all he cares about is his dog?"

"Any of you guys go the dog route in your improv sessions? It's a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what. The weird thing about telling someone they're dying is it tends to focus their priorities. You find out what matters to them. What they're willing to die for. What they're willing to lie for."

Back to the farmer, House is talking it through. "Well, you must have a neighbor who –"

"The neighbors don't like him."

"Then the Humane Society can take him in and –"

"No, they won't. Maybe my aunt –"

House rolls his eyes. "It wasn't a snakebite, was it?"

"I said I don't remember being bit."

"Sure you do. Just not by a snake. I assume that Cujo bit one of your neighbors awhile back. You tell me that he bit you, and I gotta report it. Cujo's got a record, he gets the chair. The good news is, you might just live. The bad news is, your dog's gonna die."

Chase and Foreman are later trying to wrangle with the dog using chairs.

"The guy risked his life to save this thing?"

Foreman ignores the Aussie's question. "I'll hold him, you swab the mouth."

"I think I've got a better grip here, you go for the mouth." When Foreman stares back, he holds out a fist. "All right, I'm odds."

"What, are you serious?"

"Come on."

"One, two, three!" He puts out two fingers, while Chase puts out one.

"I don't care if he's scratching your nads off, don't let go."

"Just do it!"

Chase tries to swab the dog's mouth, but pulls back. "I say we let the guy die."

"I got his head, just do it!"

Back in the classroom, House finishes his 'picture'. He holds it up to the class to reveal an ugly brownish, orangish spot.

"What would you call that? That's tea-colored, right? The guy who we thought was just after the drugs… what's the differential diagnosis for urine that's tea-colored?"

Karen pipes up. "Kidney stone."

"Kidney stones would cause what?"

"Blood in urine."

"What color is your pee?"

"Yellow."

"What color is your blood?"

"Red."

"What colors did I use?"

"Red, yellow and brown."

"And brown. What causes brown?"

"Wastes."

"Which means the kidneys are shutting down. Why?"

"Trauma."

House shakes his head. "None that his history would indicate."

"Could be damage done by the self-injection of the Demerol."

"Treatment?"

"Heat and rest –"

House sighs. "Other possible causes."

"Infection."

"Start him on antibiotics. What else?" She pauses, and House grows irritated. "Come on, come on!"

"I – I don't know." She slumps in her seat defeated.

"You're useless. But at least you know it. Blood tests show elevated creatine kinase, what does that tell you?"

Rebel stands then. "The trauma diagnosis is right. He takes it easy for a few days, he'll be fine."

"You sure? "

"The elevated CK rules out infection –"

"You know what's worse than useless? Useless and oblivious." He walks up to Ken. "What are they missing?"

"You know, it's kind of hard to think when you're in our face like this –"

"Yeah? You think it's going to be easier when you've got a real patient really dying?" He frustratingly calls out to everyone in the audience. "What are you missing?"

From the doorway, Gilmar calls out, "Muscle death."

"Not your case." House sneers at her, recognizing her for the first time.

"Nothing wrong with a consult."

Karen has a new idea. "Dying muscle leaks myoglobin. It's toxic to the kidneys."

"Brilliant. MRI his leg, see what's killing it."

He cuts to the volleyball player going into the MRI machine. Before anything else, Rebel sees a problem. "Why is the girl getting the MRI?"

"Because the neck scan revealed nothing and her doctor's way more obsessive than she thinks she is." Gilmar sits in the back, and tries not to act like that was directed at the team.

"But you said the guy needed the MRI."

"Because Dr. Gilmar back there said muscle death, not one of you said it! Not one of this guy's doctors said it. They gave him bed rest and antibiotics, just like you guys would have."

Karen pipes up hopefully. "Did he get better?"

"No."

"Well, how long –"

"Three days. It is in the nature of medicine that you are gonna screw up. You are gonna kill someone. If you can't handle that reality, pick another profession. Or finish medical school and teach."

"Three days before they thought it might have been muscle death?"

"No, three days before the patient suggested it might have been muscle death."

In the volleyball player's room, Cameron is talking to her and her parents. "The MRI revealed an osteosarcoma: a cancerous tumor in your femur. It needs to be removed surgically. With chemo, she has an excellent chance of survival. But I have to warn you, depending on how large the tumor is, and how ingrained it is, the surgeon may need to amputate your leg. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The girl's mom smiles sadly.

Foreman of three months later is talking to the farmer. "Well, dogs' mouths are pretty filthy, but they have natural antibodies to fight off most of the stuff. We don't. That's why dog bites can be so nasty. The lab test of your dog's saliva revealed a type of strep bacteria. It's commonly known as the "flesh eating disease". We'll need to operate immediately to remove the damaged tissue. We may need to remove the leg."

A young teenaged Cuddy is now standing with a very young Stacey, and Stacey's mom – a nice doctor – is talking to the fourteen-year-old boy.

"The MRI revealed a problem."

"No kidding."

"I'm sorry none of your doctors found it earlier; I'm personally going to oversee your treatment from now on." Lisa tries to smile.

"You're gonna cut me open, aren't ya?" The fourteen-year-old boy looks at her helplessly with his bright blue eyes shining.

"We may need to remove the leg."

Back in the classroom, House sighs heavily. "His MRI showed that the leg pain wasn't caused by the self-injection, wasn't caused by an infection. It was an aneurysm that clotted, leading to an infarction."

Foreman enters the room, sitting in the back with Chase and Gilmar. He whispers to them so as not to draw attention. "God, you were right. It's House."

The fourteen-year-old boy is now revealed to be Greg House. He's lying in a hospital bed. Stacy is sitting next to him.

"We have to do the surgery. The necrotic tissue has to be removed." Lisa explains to him, with Stacey's mom hovering in the back. "If there's too much –"

"I don't care what you find."

"It may become necessary in order to save your life."

"I like my leg." Greg protests. "I've had it for as long as I can remember."

"Honey, I love your leg as much as you do." Stacey tries to placate him.

Greg shakes his head resolutely. "They're not cutting it off."

In the classroom, House heaves again to continue. "Patient made the right choice. Tell a surgeon it's okay to cut a leg off and he's going to spend the night polishing his good hacksaw."

Rebel scoffs. "Right, surgeons could care less about saving limbs."

"Well, of course they care about their patients. They just care about themselves more. Which is not an unreasonable position. Trying to maximize the tissue you save also maximizes the chances of something going wrong. Which means you've gotta be extra careful. Which is such a pain in the ass."

He brings it back to Lisa, Greg and Stacy of five years ago.

"Amazing advances have been made." Lisa smiles. "Kids with prosthetic legs are running the 100-meter dash in twelve seconds."

"Yeah, they're just not as pretty. Do a bypass, restore the circulation." Greg orders tests on him.

"Amputation is safer."

Greg narrows his eyes. "For you, or me?"

"The blockage of blood flow –"

"Four-day blockage."

"Yes. It caused muscle cell death." Lisa sighs worriedly. "When those cells die, they release cytokines and potassium –"

"If you restore the blood flow instead of just lopping it all off, then all that crap gets washed back into my system. The cytokines could cause organ failure, the potassium could cause cardiac arrest. On the other hand, I may just get the use of my leg back."

"The post-operative pain alone –"

"I'll get through it." Greg is stubborn. "I understand the risks, you're in the clear. Go schedule an OR."

As Cuddy leaves, Stacey turns to her boyfriend. "God, you're an idiot."

"I think I'm more of a jerk."

"I'm not being glib. And I'm not being cute, I don't want you to kill yourself."

"I'm not gonna die."

"Oh, I feel completely reassured."

House cuts back to the volleyball player and her family, who are waiting and praying. He segways back to his pre-high school infarction. He writes 'Not this leg' on his left leg; and Stacey helps him to write 'not this leg either' on his right. The nine-year-old volleyball player, the middle-aged farmer and fourteen-year-old Greg House are in surgery. He then brings it back to Greg and Stacey sitting in a hospital room – and Greg writhing in pain.

"I think they gotta up that morphine." Greg seethes.

"The doctors say they can't."

Greg takes on a patronizing tone. "The doctors recommended bed rest and antibiotics."

"They screwed up, it doesn't mean they're wrong this time."

"Sure doesn't mean they're right."

"Morphine will kill you."

"I can handle it." He pleads.

"You're in pain, you're not thinking right."

"That's why I need the damn morphine!"

"Okay, I'll talk to them."

She leaves. Later on, she's talking with Lisa, and her mom is listening nearby. "Oh my God, how much longer is the pain going to last?"

"It depends on how much muscle cell death there was. He could be right, he could come out of this with almost full use of his leg."

"Or?"

"He could be in pain for the rest of his life. There's a third option, surgically. A middle ground between what we did and amputation."

Stacy bites her bottom lip. "He's not big on middle ground."

"Yeah."

Greg is later reading the printouts from the EKG machine. "Nurse? Nurse! I need more calcium gluconate."

"You just had 5 mLs."

"The QRS is getting wider. My potassium is rising."

"I'll talk to your doctor."

"Well, you better make it fast, 'cause I'm about to go into cardiac arrest. You give me the dose, or I go into wide complex tachycardia."

"I could get in trouble –"

"Listen, it's not a narcotic! I'm not looking for a buzz. You've got about twenty seconds." His breathing quickens, and the monitors all go off. "I was wrong."

Nurses and doctors enter, including Lisa and Stacey's mom.

"What have you got?" Stacey's mom questions.

"Wide complex tachycardia."

Lisa balks. "Who diagnosed –"

"He did."

Stacey's mom trusts the boy. "Paddles! Charge."

"Clear!"

They shock him, and he flatlines. In the classroom, House notes something quietly of importance. "The patient was technically dead for over a minute."

He moves on to the farmer, walking with a new dog. The man stops, and checks his prosthetic leg. House is watching him, standing there in a white hospital gown. It then cuts back three months to the volleyball game, where the nine-year-old is playing a game. House is standing in the stands. The scene whites out as the flatline monitor sounds, and Cuddy shocking him again. They're back in the hospital room.

"He's back."

In back of the classroom, alongside the ducklings, Wilson speaks up. "Do _you_ think he was dead? Do you think those experiences were real?"

House notices a lot of doctors and nurses have joined the high schoolers. "Define real. They were real experiences. What they meant… Personally, I choose to believe that the white light people sometimes see visions, this patient saw. They're all just chemical reactions that take place when the brain shuts down."

"You choose to believe that?" Foreman asks.

"There's no conclusive science. My choice has no practical relevance to my life, I choose the outcome I find more comforting."

Karen calls up. "You find it more comforting to believe that this is it?"

"I find it more comforting to believe that this isn't simply a test."

He cuts back five years again, to Greg and Stacy. They're sharing the hospital bed.

"How bad is the pain right now?"

"It's bad."

"It's not getting any better. If you were right, the pain would be subsiding. You'd be getting better."

"It's just taking longer."

"No, it's not. We've got to let him cut the leg off."

"It's my leg. It's my life." Greg sneers.

"Would you give up your leg to save my life?"

"Of course I would."

"Then why do you think your life is worth less than mine? If this were any other patient, what would you tell them to do?"

"I would say it's their choice."

"Wha – not a chance! You'd browbeat them until they made the choice you knew was right. You'd shove it in their face that it's just a damn leg! You don't think you deserve to live? You don't think you deserve to be happy? Not let them cut off your leg?"

They're both near tears. "I can't, I can't, I'm sorry."

"The pain alone is going to kill you."

"I know, I know. I need you to talk to the doctor."

Stacy is later sitting in a waiting area. Cuddy walks up and sits with her. "He change his mind?"

"No. He's asked to be put in a chemically induced coma so he can sleep through the worst part of the pain."

"We can do that."

"What happens after he's in the coma?"

"We'll obviously monitor his condition closely, and if he can get through the next forty-eight hours without another cardiac incident –"

"I meant, I'm his health-care proxy, I get to make medical decisions for him if he's not able to."

"You should talk to him about what he wants to do."

"I know what he wants, but if he's out it's my call, right?"

Cuddy nods. Going back to House's room, Lisa induces the coma. She tells Greg that he'll be out in less than a minute. He glances around the room, identifying Lisa, Stacey and Stacey's mom. He thanks Lisa, and then finds Stacey.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I'll see you when I wake up. We'll go golfing. I love you."

"I love you, too. I'm sorry."

Going under, Greg replies, "You've got nothing to be sorry about."

Stacy gets up and walks over to Cuddy after he's out. "The middle ground you were talking about?"

"We go in, take out the dead muscle. There's still some risk of reperfusion injury, but –"

"Give me the forms you need signed."

"You're saving his life." Her mom smiles.

"He won't see it that way."

Back to the classroom, House has composed himself. "Because of the extent of the muscle removed, utility of the patient's leg was severely compromised. Because of the time delay in making the diagnosis, patient continues to experience chronic pain."

"She had no right to do that." Karen stands, offended.

"She had the proxy." Rebel stands as well, arguing with her.

"She knew he didn't want the surgery."

"She saved his life!"

Ken joins the dispute, also standing. "Well, we don't know that. Maybe he would have been fine!"

"It doesn't matter. It's the patient's call." Karen pouts.

Rebel crosses his arms. "The patient's an idiot."

With a half-laugh, House agrees. "They usually are. Do you have a buzzer or something. What time does this class end?"

Cuddy is now at the doorway beside him. "Twenty minutes ago."

House glares at her. He picks up the "World's greatest dad" mug and walking toward her. "I'm not doing this again. And this guy is not the world's greatest dad. Not even ranked. Who the hell lets their kids play with lead-based paint? That's why he's always sick. Find him some plastic cups and the class is all his again."

He walks away, leaving behind a full room of shell-shocked students. He walks all the way back to his office and slumps behind the desk. He whips out his cell phone and dials.

"Stacy, it's Greg. I've got an opening for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Make sure your husband isn't late."

 **Yeah… I just decided that it was the anniversary of when he got his limp, had the infarction, yadda yadda yadda… July fourth sounds about right. Greg and Stacey; Jimmy and Bonnie. Well, one more chapter indicates the end of the first season. Are you ready?**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hey, there. My sister is on a soap opera kick at the moment, so her husband is spending all his time listening to emo music in his gaming room. I've spent so much time in here, for homework and Fanfiction. I have a project to do and it is due soon; I just keep pushing it off. Here's 1.22 – The Honeymoon. I do not like Stacey. She's terrible. Almost as bad as (or maybe worse than) Lisa. Oh, yeah. I like to immerse myself in this story. Makes me forget other things. Thank you to everyone who's messaged and reviewed me. It makes me very happy. Sorry it's so late, but the webite hasn't been letting me upload for some reason. Here are the ages: H,C,W – 19; F – 16; G,C – 15. It's July 26th now… at nighttime.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim**

Seated at a table for four in a nice restaurant, Greg is trying to balance his fork and spoon on the rim of his virgin margarita glass. Stacy drops down in the opposite seat, and the silverware fall off the glass. Greg looks up as though expecting someone else. He stuffs his napkin to the side and moves to stand up.

"I gotta go."

"No, no, he'll be here. I'm sure he's just running a little late."

"He's cancelled eight exams, he's not gonna –"

"He's scared of you."

Greg scoffs. "Sure. The ex-boy-toy. Eh, that makes sense."

"He wasn't scared before."

"Right, you think being afraid of me is a symptom of a serious ailment."

Stacy presses into the medicinal side of things. "Sudden mood swings, infantile regression, abdominal pain, he's passed out twice, yeah! I think it might be a medical problem."

Greg glares at her. "He's twenty minutes late. I'm outta here."

"Please." She puts her hand on his. "He'll be here."

"Why? Because he loves you and does everything he's told?"

"Because I didn't tell him you'd be here." She gives him a _"Ha!"_ kind of look.

House sighs and fixes the necklace Stacy's wearing – a silver crucifix. "He likes to see."

"Yes, he does." She smiles as her husband walks up behind Greg.

"Stace? What's going on?"

"Hey –"

Greg turns in his seat, extending his arm. "Hi. I'm Greg House. You must be Matt."

"Mark." Stacey corrects him.

"Mark Warner." He nods and they shake. "Don't get up." He sits, whispering to Stacy as he kisses her on the cheek. "Sorry, pair of conferences."

"It's okay."

"Hi." Mark looks across the table. "Wow. Greg House."

"Yeah. Wow."

"No, I haven't been avoiding you, I just didn't want to waste your time. The other doctors checked me out and they said it was just stress. College season, kids, parents, they're all over me."

"Makes sense to me."

"Greg –"

House detects her warning. "What do you want me to do?"

"You said you'd check him out!"

"He says he's healthy. What's to check out?"

Mark shakes his head. "Sorry for the mix-up, but I'm glad you two got a chance to catch up. Looks like you're having fun."

"Oh, he's good. If you can fake sincerity, you can fake pretty much anything. I can't tell you how much I like your fella."

Mark grins a little smugly. "Yeah, me too. You know, I thought you'd be all sarcastic, bitter, you know, because Stacy married me." He puts an arm around Stacy to emphasize the fact.

House smiles just as smugly. "You know, we should do things together. Maybe throw a ball around or something. Guy stuff."

"We could go for a run together."

"Hah! He's Oscar Wilde!"

Stacy shakes her head. "Wow, this pissing contest is really turning me on. He needs to go to the hospital."

House raises his glass. "Here's to women. You can't live with 'em, you can't kill 'em until the neighbors are stripping in Atlantic City."

Mark raises his own glass. "Damn straight."

They start to drink, and House finishes his glass first. "I'm definitely taller."

"I have more hair. And I think that… oh…"

"Mark?"

Stacey jumps up. House gets up as well, and guides Mark's head to the table as he passes out. Two paramedics suddenly enter the restaurant with a gurney. The leading man calls out.

"Someone call 911 for a wagon to Princeton-Plainsboro?"

"Garçon!" Greg calls back as he snaps his fingers to get their attention. "It's okay, ladies and gentlemen, nothing to worry about. Unless you had the veal."

"You dosed him!" Stacey whispers.

"I told you, I'd check him out. I was a little worried they were gonna get here before he'd passed out. Would have been tougher to get him to drink. I'll give you a ride. We can talk."

Stacy gives him a dirty look and walks out with the paramedics. On the way, Gilmar, Chase and Foreman are called in to the Diagnostics office.

"Tummyache, cranky, no apparent source. Any thoughts?" When no one says a word, Chase walks up to the board. "Foreman, you gonna contribute, or you too tired from stealing cars?" Foreman looks up from his bowl of cereal. "I'm being House. It's funny."

"I know. You made milk come out of my nose."

House enters the room. "Morning."

"It's eleven p.m." Foreman corrects him.

House ignores this. "You guys got the file? What's wrong?"

"Previous tests revealed nothing that would cause abdominal pain or the mood swings." Chase shakes his head.

"Then we're done! What do you think, ball game, zoo? I don't care, I just want to hang with you guys."

"What about drugs?" Gilmar questions. "His tox screen on admission showed a massive amount of chloral hydrate."

"Yeah, sorry, that was me. I had to dope him up to get him in here. Guy doesn't think he's sick."

"Who does?"

"His wife."

Gilmar nods. "The woman you used to live with."

"That's her Indian name. On her driver's license it's Stacy." House glares at her. "I assume you have a point."

"You believe her over the patient himself. That's why we're taking this case."

"The truth, I hear voices. All the time. Telling me to do stuff, it's crazy, huh?"

"What happened to "everybody lies"?"

House glares harder. "I was lying. Do the things, the, you know, blah blah blah blah blah, all that stuff the other docs did. If that's negative, ultrasound his belly. If that's negative, CT his abdomen and pelvis, with and without contrast." Heading to his office, he calls over his shoulder, "Did I miss anything?"

"Kitchen sink?" Chase asks.

"Well, we could certainly give that a – oh, you minx."

House and Wilson are walking in the hallway hours later, at seven the next morning.

"What you're thinking is, you're going to save him, be a hero, and win her back. It's always impressive, that level of twisted narcissism."

House scoffs. "She's married. Big clue I lost the game."

"You can't be within fifty feet of Stacy Warner."

 _don't really want to, exactly._ "I thought she wanted me to treat him."

"Treat the husband. Stay away from the wife."

"But what if they get close to each other? What do I do then?"

"Hey, you have to treat this like a regular case." He continues as House gets into the elevator. "Be yourself: cold, uncaring, distant."

House rolls his eyes as the doors close, separating them. "Please, don't put me on a pedestal."

Gilmar is talking to Stacy and Mark – the latter of which is in a hospital bed. "We CTed your abdomen. Nothing that would explain the stomach pain."

Mark gives a _"You see?"_ look to Stacy, who sighs. "What's the next move?"

"Leaving." Mark answers for her. "How many more tests do I need? How many more doctors need to clear me before we can get back to our life?"

"Just one."

Mark closes his eyes and leans back. "House."

Gilmar feels the need to say something she shouldn't. "It must be awkward being treated by a man who used to be involved with your wife."

"Well, it's awkward being in a hospital when there's nothing wrong with me."

Around nine o'clock, Gilmar, House and Chase are walking down the hall.

"MRAs were clean, which means he's probably fine." Gilmar announces. "He doesn't seem paranoid, he shows no signs of –"

"No, it means we have no idea what's wrong with him."

Foreman walks up. "Ben Goldstein says the schedule's locked. He can't do it before tomorrow."

"No, today. Call him. Tell him I'll make it work."

As Foreman walks off again, Gilmar gawks. "You're cutting him open?"

House shouts down the hall to Foreman. "Whoa, hold it! There's no need for exploratory surgery, Dr. Gilmar has a diagnosis."

"No, I just think it's premature and maybe irresponsible to do exploratory surgery before we know he's actually sick."

"No, it's premature to put him on a list for hospice care." Chase and Foreman both roll their eyes. "And it's maybe irresponsible to imply my actions are not rationally supported."

"All we have is his wife –"

"Who says that his stomach hurts. Works for me."

"The patient doesn't even think he's sick. Why would he consent –"

"His wife's a lawyer. She's very convincing. Call Goldstein, surgery's on."

House walks off, followed by Chase and Foreman, leaving Gilmar standing in the hall with her mouth hanging open. In the OR around noon, Goldstein fits in the surgery. Foreman is watching from behind a window in the wall. Stacy is later sitting on a couch in the waiting room, talking into a handheld tape player.

"Leslie vs. Leslie seems to be right in point, but I'm sure they're going to try to distinguish it by –" She pauses as something is said over the overhead speaker. "Sorry, they'll try to distinguish it by relying on the minority opinion."

A paper coffee cup is thrust under her nose, held by one Dr. House.

"Double milk, no sugar."

"I like sugar now." House sits next to Stacy. They both look bored and somewhat anxious. House keeps tapping his cane on the floor. "Some people would be annoyed by that."

House taps on the floor a few more times. "You know why people sit in waiting rooms?"

"This is gonna be good." She sets the coffee down.

"People think the closer they're sitting to the operating room, the more they care."

"That's why I'm here. I'm not moving until everybody sees me."

"Are you doing anybody besides Mark?" She looks at him incredulously. "It's a medical question."

"Because if I am his paranoia isn't paranoia, it's a justified response? Therefore, not a legitimate symptom?"

"Knew you'd understand."

"On the other hand, if it was really just a medical question you would have sent one of your people. Why just push my buttons when you can push theirs, too? 'Hey, Dr. Mandingo, ask the wife if she's been messing around.' You were asking because, if I am unfaithful, I might sleep with you. The answer's 'no, I don't sleep around'. Make sure you note that in his file."

Foreman walks up, and it's close to three o'clock in the afternoon. "Mrs. Warner. The surgery went well; he's in recovery, you can see him now."

She leaves down the hall. House stands, and Foreman quietly whispers to him. "Goldstein found nothing but a distended bladder."

"Neurogenic bladder isn't causing the pain."

"Also doesn't cause personality changes. On the other hand, it would completely account for Gilmar's diagnosis – the patient's completely healthy."

"Give me the video for the surgery."

House remains in his office, complete with delivery pizza, well into the night. He is reviewing the video. He every so often gets up to walk around, play with the blinds, twirl his cane, look through books, etc. He thinks, at one point, that he sees something odd, but it turns out to be a spot on the television screen. He grabs a higher resolution screen from OB/GYN, and finally spots something at four o'clock in the morning of the twenty-eighth.

He picks up his cell, dialing a certain duckling's number. "Dr. Mandingo, you're needed at the plantation house."

The ducklings are soon in House's office, looking very sleepy. They're seated on the floor, staring at the screen with blank expressions.

"Well, don't everybody talk at once." House groans, popping a couple of Vicodin.

"There's nothing there." House follows Gilmar's eyes to what she's really looking at: a ¾ empty bottle of whisky.

"Stop looking at the suspiciously empty bottle and look at the screen. Here's why I get the big bucks. This is nothing. An enhanced version of nothing." He plays the tape a bit, and then stops it. " _This_ is the problem."

"Unbelievable." Foreman whispers.

Chase nods. "Tremors in the muscle fiber."

Gilmar yawns. "That's not peristalsis. That's abdominal epilepsy."

Foreman curses himself. "Means there's some sort of neurological problem."

House clicks his tongue. "A time bomb in his brain. I forget, who said it was nothing?"

Two hours and a cup of coffee later, Foreman is monitoring Mark's brain wave patterns. When it's finished, he's talking to House on their way to the Diagnostics office.

"Saw a very small diffuse abnormality in the brain waves. Probably white matter. Means his axonal nerves are dying. Explains the neurogenic bladder."

"Enough nerves die, he dies." House walks into the conference room and Foreman follows.

"Global axonal nerve death. Likely causes are encephalitis or Alzheimer's." He starts to write on the white board.

"Early onset Alzheimer's." Gilmar shakes her head, trapping a new cup of coffee in her grasp. "The worst."

"He won't die right away. He'll just want to."

"We'll check his blood for Alzheimer's protein markers."

"Last I heard Alzheimer's had a genetic component. Patient have parents?"

Gilmar checks the history. "Parents died in a car crash. No history of dementia."

"Send CSF or CBC and viral serologies to rule out encephalitis, and get Tal proteins to check for Alzheimer's. And this," He waves around the history file. "Still feels a little light."

"I took a _complete_ medical history."

House nods as she takes a large gulp of coffee. He turns to Foreman. "Check out their house. Take Sparky with you."

"They live in Short Hills, two hours away." Chase complains, drinking an ice coffee from Starbucks.

"You can expense the tolls."

Gilmar glares at him with a bit of a know-it-all smirk. "You're not interested in the medical history. You're a Peeping Tom trying to spy on your ex."

To prove a point, House calls out to Foreman and Chase as they leave. "Her secret diary: that's the main thing. But as long as you're there, take a peek in the medicine cabinet. Check for toxins, heavy metals… anything that would explain this other than encephalitis or Alzheimer's."

The boys shake their heads and leave. Gilmar rolls her eyes as House heads to his office. She leaves for the lab. She stays inside for a few hours with nothing but coffee and scans. Stacey eventually enters.

"Making lunch? I assume that's for Mark."

Gilmar ignores her. "You know about his parents. What about further back? Grandparents, uncles, aunts, how's their health?"

Stacy merely rolls her eyes. "Greg hates fishing. He's got a theory."

"Go figure. You're actually smart about him. Must not be a doctor. Mostly likely candidate right now is Alzheimer's."

Stacy thinks about that. "No. There's been no memory loss. I mean, he forgets where he left his keys, but who doesn't?"

Gilmar nods. "Any family history? And not a doctor, evading the question… you're either a lawyer or a screw."

"Of? Whacked-outness? His sister voted for Nader, twice. That's about it." Stacey smirks. "And I'm not a cop."

Gilmar smiles. "A lawyer then. You were with House? When it happened to his leg?"

"You're interested in him." Stacey pokes back.

"We went on one date. It didn't go very well."

"Our first date didn't, either. I was never going to see him again. Week later I moved in. What would you like to know?"

"How did you meet?"

"Heh. Pediatrics ward. We were eight. He'd fallen from a ladder; broke his arm. My dad was the lawyer, suing the hospital. We met up and wandered around. Even before the leg, before puberty, he was an ass. I didn't care. He was the first person not to treat me like a weak girl."

"Sounds like you two were good together."

"We _were_."

The machine beeps, and Gilmar looks over to read the test results. "He's clear. No Alzheimer's."

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

Foreman and Chase are at Stacy and Mark's home close to noon. Foreman uncovers a bike from under a tarp. "Serious mountain bike. Hasn't been used in a while, though."

Chase carries a mat out from the bathroom. "He switched to yoga. Brand new yoga mat and tape."

"Man's getting older."

"Or it might indicate back pain."

"Wife would have mentioned it."

"Yoga's good for picking up the ladies, too."

Foreman shakes his head. "Not when you do it in your own home. The change could just be a change, not a symptom." He opens a cabinet in the kitchen to find a plate of cookies with a note on them. Chase!"

He scoffs when Chase walks in as he reads the letter aloud. "Dear House boys, a snack for your highly illegal search. Hope you like oatmeal raisin. Love, Stacy."

"Whoa." Chase hands a bottle full of pills to Foreman. "In a desk drawer, hidden in the back under some papers. Secret stash."

House and company enter Diagnostics about fifteen to one o'clock. Chase is holding the pill bottle, as he speaks.

"Amphetamines."

"Regularly used, could lead to neurotoxicity." Foreman adds. "Explains the axonal nerve damage and the personality issues."

House picks up the bottle. "On the other hand, prescribed to W. Brown."

Chase scoffs. "Fake name, fake prescription."

"Could be, but the prescribing doc, his name's real. This guy's just had his license pulled for writing illegal prescriptions to high school kids."

"Mark's a high school guidance counselor." Gilmar points out.

"And Mr. Brown's birth date makes him twelve-years-old. You think maybe these were confiscated by a high school guidance counselor?" He pockets the bottle. "Anything else?"

"Uh, yeah, he switched from mountain biking to yoga, could have been indication –"

"He's getting older. What did the CSF say about encephalitis? "

Gilmar frowns. "Said no. Champagne tap. No red cells, no white cells, serology's negative."

"Which means we're back to Alzheimer's."

"I told her he didn't have it. The marker tests were negative."

"Well, then you should have told her that. He could still have it. PET scan will reveal any change in metabolic activity in the cerebral cortex, run him through. And check his memory."

At one thirty, Mark is ready to enter the PET scan.

Foreman holds up a syringe. "We're going to inject a chemical marker called FDDNP. Then I'm going to ask you a series of questions."

"Test my memory." Mark indicates he knows wha's about to happen.

"Yeah. First we're gonna map out some specific brain functions, check out the engine before we take the car for a drive." Foreman enters the room next to the machine, and finds House hiding in wait. "Checking up on me?"

Sarcastically, House replies, "I like all the pretty lights."

The tech injects the chemical, and Mark starts to enter the machine.

Speaking into the mike, Foreman begins the questions. "Okay, here we go. Your full name?"

"Mark Warner."

"Is your mother living?"

"No."

Foreman looks at the screens. "Limbic system's intact." He then takes the mike again. "Okay, say you find a stamped envelope on the street. What do you do?"

"Find a mailbox and mail it."

"Jeez, what a guy. His frontal lobe is working way better than mine." House takes control of the mike. "You remember when you got married?"

"Two years ago this July, who is that?"

House looks to Foreman, who is staring at him. "What? There could be a problem with his long-term memory." He speaks in the mike again. "Big church wedding?"

"Is that House?"

"He remembers voices."

Foreman crosses his arms. "This serves no diagnostic purpose."

"I thought you skimped on the limbic system, there. Emotional reactions, I just want to be thorough." He again speaks in the mike. "Did the atheistic bride wear a pretty, white dress?"

"Was she thinking of you? Is that what you medically need to know?"

"What jewelry did your bride wear?"

"She never wears any jewelry. Except that cross her mother gave to her. No underwear, either. At least, not that day. I remember because she ripped her pretty, white dress off in the car. Is that the sort of answer you're looking for, Doctor?"

House smirks. "I think I upset him."

"You gotta to stop this, now." Foreman warns him.

"I remember the honeymoon was in Paris. I remember because we didn't leave the room for two weeks. You want the details on that?"

"A little defensive." House almost laughs.

Foreman groans. "It's not paranoia if someone's out to get you."

At nine o'clock at night, House is standing on the roof of the hospital, staring into the night. Stacy appears in the doorway.

"Here we go." He groans.

Stacy shoves him. "He's sick, paranoid, and you keep hammering him about me?"

"The questions were designed to define the operational parameters of his limbic system –"

"Elevate the words all you want, you were just screwing with him. Low even by your standards."

"Medical screwing. It's what I do."

"And then you run away like a twelve-year-old. Go hide on the roof like you always do."

"I haven't been up here in five years." He retorts sharply. After a lengthy, awkward pause, he sighs, almost defeated. "I don't know what's wrong with him. It's not Alzheimer's, it's not encephalitis, it's not environmental, it's not immunological. Every test is negative, every time. He's perfectly healthy, but his brain is dying."

"It never occurred to me that you couldn't figure out what's wrong."

Stacy starts to cry, and after a moment's battle with his conscience, House walks over to hug her.

"I haven't given up."

"So what do we do?" She sobs into his chest.

"We wait."

"For what?"

"Something to change. It's one of the great tragedies of life." He groans as they break apart. "Something always, something always changes."

Mark is lying in his hospital bed. Half an hour past midnight, he sits up and grabs his legs. He shouts for the nurses. Not long after, House and the team are paged. The ducklings have already gone to bed. Having no follow-up page from House, they fling up the blankets. At the hospital, Stacey runs out of the elevator, House not far behind. Eric is careful not to wake his dad as he sneaks out of the house. Chase sneaks out his window; as does Petra. While Eric drives and Chase has a driver, Petra just hails a cab.

"What happened? What's wrong?" At the hospital, Stacey is frantic.

"My toes. They were numb, tingling, then nothing. No pain, nothing." Mark is in tears.

"It's okay. They're gonna take care of you."

"I'm scared, Stacy. Hold my hand."

She already is. "What's happening?" She cries out, in tears also.

"Time marches on." House sighs. "He's paralyzed."

It is one o'clock a.m. on July twenty-ninth. Fresh coffee is sitting out with three available mugs. House is drinking from his red one, attempting to stay awake despite hardly getting any sleep the past few days. At all.

"His symptoms mimic a peripheral nervous system under attack." Foreman acknowledges sleepily. He's dressed haphazardly.

"But he's experiencing significant paresthesias, and he can't move his hands or toes." Chase sips the offered coffee. He forgot his white coat and is wearing House's neglected coat – which is much too big for him.

"It's peripheral." House yawns. "Guillain-Barre syndrome attacks there, not the brain."

Foreman catches the yawn. "No, no. I already did an indirect Coombs' test. No glutination, no antibodies!"

"Initiative!" He exclaims, drawn out from the tiredness. "Like that. Start him on IV immunosuppress—"

"No antibodies means he doesn't have Guillain-Barre, period!"

"Period? More like dot dot dot. What if he has the virus but isn't producing those antibodies?"

"Come on, the chances of that are –"

"I didn't ask about the Vegas line, I said "what if?""

"It would mean he's sick and his body's not doing anything about it."

Gilmar hiccups from drinking the coffee too quickly. She's still wearing her penguin slippers. "So we either fight it for him or it's fatal."

"Fatal sounds very bad to me." House drinks more coffee.

"But without the antibodies we can't even test for it." Chase drinks more as well. "We don't know if we're right."

"The treatment isn't all that dangerous, plasmapheresis and IVIG. If it works, we're right. If he dies, it was something else."

At three o'clock, Mark is hooked up to a dialyzer and talking to Gilmar.

"So the paralysis might not be permanent?"

"That's our hope, but the brain's tricky. You never know."

Through the window, House looks at Stacy, who's sitting on the edge of Mark's bed. Stacy looks back with some sort of message in her eyes.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"With the head, the look."

"He just wants to talk to me." She appeases her husband.

"Well, if it was medical he should be talking to me!" He pouts.

"I'll be just outside the door."

"Leave! Go talk to him! You're gonna leave me anyway!"

"No, that's not gonna happen."

"You left him, and he had a limp. If I can't walk, or hold you…" He starts to cry.

"Honey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to talk to him."

"If I can't feed myself?"

Gilmar cuts in. "Mark, what you're feeling, it's not real. It's the virus."

Mark starts to choke; Gilmar looks into his mouth with her penlight. "Mark? His throat's closing up, he can't breathe. Code blue!" As nurses rush in, Gilmar requests what needs to be done. "He's having a reaction to the IVIG, I need epi stat!" She tries to tube him but he keeps jerking around. "I can't get the scope in his throat!"

"Stop that." House orders, suddenly inside and behind her.

"He's having an allergic reaction and he's crashing!"

"No, he's not. Look at his vitals. O2 stats are within range. I'm betting the only abnormal sign is sweaty palms." Stacy is still holding his hand and nods. "Push two milligrams Ativan." Gilmar pushes it, and Mark calms down. "Just a panic attack. Something obviously freaked him out. Can we talk now?"

House and Stacy walk out of the room. "You couldn't just walk into the room?"

"He's had five visitors drive down. I didn't recognize any of them. Six more have sent him flowers, candy and a teddy bear, which I'm sure he finds very comforting. But I didn't recognize any of the names on the cards."

"Shockingly, Mark has friends, and I have some new ones."

"No, it's not shocking that you have new friends. But it is shocking that you apparently dumped all your old ones."

"I haven't."

"No, I didn't think so. I just think you didn't tell any of them that you were down here. Now why would that be?" A doctor comes to use the telephone at the desk; they move to another spot. "Why would you not tell your oldest friends that you were taking Mark to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital to try to save his life?"

Stacy sounds offended. "I've been busy! I haven't kept track of who knows what."

"See, my old friends are telling me to be careful. They seem to think –"

"He. And he sent me the bear."

"Figures. He seems to think that I'm not over you. It might be dangerous for me to spend time with you. I'm thinking your friends might have similar concerns. And so you didn't tell him you'd be here, with me."

"What's your point? That I'm still in love with you? I should abandon my dying husband and we should head for Rio?"

"No."

"Greg, I appreciate what you're doing for us, but maybe Wilson's right. Maybe you should just stay away from me."

She walks off. All through the day, House is working in his office. He gets a lot of paperwork done, as the ducklings struggle to figure out what's wrong with Mark. House tries to keep his mind off the current case, and off Stacey. He isn't sure how he feels about her at the moment. He's on the phone a while, and on the Internet, and sending faxes. When a fax comes through, he finally gets a glimpse of how long he's been working. It's six thirty at night. He checks out and thinks about what to do. While driving around, he ends up at a bar not too far from his apartment. He looks through his glove box and finds a fake ID that says he's twenty-three. He grabs his cane, goes inside and orders a beer. While on his second, he calls Wilson up.

"Hey, come over here."

"You need a consult?" Jimmy asks, looking around the dinner table.

Julie is seated across from him. Michael is at the table, as well as Julie's two sisters, and her parents. A few of Julie's friends from school are also there. He's been bored since the first sister showed up, complaining about Pi Cappa Delta, or whatever sorority house is her rival.

"Yeah, of the Pimm's Snowball variety."

"How's the patient?"

"Drifting. Needs an oncologist for better results."

"I'm on the way." Wilson hangs up and stands. "Duty calls."

"Who the hell was that?" Julie demands to know.

"Work. They need an oncologist and I'm on call."

She scoffs. "Don't bother coming back tonight."

Julie harshly throws his jacket at him, almost kicking him out of her apartment. He contemplates ramming into her gay roommate's busted Mercedes as he climbs into his Volvo. He ultimately decides against it and drives to the local bar, called Pimm's Snowball. He rummages through the glove box after he parks, finding the fake ID House got for him, that claims he is twenty-one. He stands at the doorway as his card is looked over. Eventually, he's let in, and he easily finds his best friend currently on his fourth beer. Another beer is waiting for him as he hops on the stool.

"What's up?"

"Love the bear, Jimmy. It was adorable."

"Julie's going to kill me. She cooked. There's people over."

"I got Mark's latest blood work, and he's not responding to treatment."

James sighs. "I'm sorry."

Greg sets down the beer. "I was happy. He's my patient. I'm sure he's a good guy, he's probably a great guy. Probably a much better guy than I am. And some part of me wants him to die. I'm just not sure if it's because I want to be with her or if it's because I want her to suffer."

James watches his friend's eyes, knowing how painful this must be. "I didn't see your car outside."

"Cab from the hospital."

"C'mon." James urges. "I'm driving you home."

True to his word, James drives them to Greg's apartment in the Volvo. James can tell Greg is feeling low and confused, because there are no snide remarks about the 'girly gay car' or about James not finishing even one beer, and 'why do you think we got these licenses?'. Everything is quiet aside from a few dark mumblings – where Greg is trying to decide how he feels about Stacey. He hadn't had much at the bar, but he'd drank a bit of whiskey at the office. He fumbles with his keys, but James leads the two inside. James grabs a beer from Greg's fridge then, settling on the couch with a pillow and blanket from the hall closet.

Greg grabs an offered beer and settles at the piano. He plays into the night, lulling James to sleep, before finally turning in around eleven. The following morning, the two get dressed with minimal complaints – James doesn't have his hair dryer, and Greg has lost his favorite cane. James grabs another of Greg's canes from the closet as he puts away the pillow and folded blanket. They pile into the Volvo, stop at McDonald's for breakfast, and head in to work. The two separate after an inappropriate joke is thrown about how Lisa's decided to dress today. Wilson has a lot of appointments lined up, and House needs to talk now that his head is clearer. It's nine o'clock on July thirtieth. House rides the elevator up and walks into Mark's room.

"Hey. Is it okay if I talk to Stacy for a minute?"

Stacy pats Mark's hand. "I'll be just outside, honey."

The two of them walk down the hallway in a sort of comforting silence. House is finally the one to break it. "You two are good together."

"You know nothing about Mark."

"He took you to Paris, that's good enough for me."

Stacy stops, looking up to him strangely. "We never went to Paris."

"Your honeymoon. It's been your dream city, you wanted to go since you were six, and he actually took you."

"No, I had to work. We spent the night in New York; then went back to Short Hills. What is it?"

House stares at her intently. "When did Mark switch from mountain biking to yoga?"

"About a month ago. The same time he started getting sick, what does that mean?"

"We have two more symptoms."

At ten o'clock in House's office, he puts pictures of Mark's brain up on the light board. "Patient was asked a series of questions to determine the functionality of his brain."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You grilled him about Stacy."

"Whatever. Yeah, point is he told us everything we needed to know to diagnose him, that is if we use your fancy PET scan as a lie detector. See, it's a very creative process, lying. Now, telling the truth is a much simpler process. See here. Question nine, this is where Mark gives a long, rambling answer about taking Stacy to Paris. What does the PET scan say?"

Foreman scoffs. "Minimal involvement. Just the frontal and temporal lobes."

Chase doesn't get it. "He said he went to Paris and the PET confirms it, so what?"

"They didn't go. They didn't go to Paris, and yet Mark's brain apparently thinks that he really did spend 40 francs on a tour of the Bastille." He starts erasing the white board. "So we have an intermittent syndrome that presents with abdominal pain, polyneuropathy, paranoia and delusions. Now, here's the thing about Acute Intermittent Porphyria. It'll jump you in a dark alley, beat the crap out of you, leave you bleeding. But it leaves gloves, so no fingerprints. Doesn't show up in blood tests, urine tests, nothing. Unless you catch it red handed in the middle of an attack."

Gilmar shakes her head. "But there are other symptoms of AIP."

"Such as?"

"Light sensitivity?"

"Yeah, well, one of the true tragedies of this condition is it makes you want to stick your cool, new mountain bike in the garage and take up an indoor sport like, say, yoga. Start the treatment: hematin and glucose."

Foreman stands up. "If you give him hematin and you're wrong, he dies today."

Chase stands as well. "There's only one way to confirm AIP: urine sample made during the attack."

Gilmar is the last to stand. "And there's no way to predict when he'll have another attack."

House smirks cruelly. "Sure there is."

Half an hour later, the team is talking to Stacy in Mark's room.

"Acute Intermittent Porphyria has very specific triggers." House explains. "Barbiturates, alcohol, high levels of protein set off an attack."

"Which trigger do you think set off Mark's?"

"Not the faintest idea, that's why I'm going to give him the combo plate."

"So if he has this, and you trigger the attack, the attack makes him worse. Right?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "But then we'll know what it is and we can treat it."

"What if I don't have this thing and you give me that shot? What happens?"

"No idea. If we don't know what's messing up your brain we don't know how you'll react."

"Okay, I need a minute with my husband."

The team leaves to the hall. They watch Mark talking through the glass, then Stacy gets up and leaves. She joins the team. "He doesn't want the trigger. He wants to wait, see if we can come up with another explanation. If it is the AIP, how much time does he have?"

"No idea. Next attack could be fatal." House answers brutally honestly. "Could be six months from now, could be five minutes from now."

"I want you to test him."

"Fine. I'll send for a HMB synthetase mutation, genetic test. Lab will get back to us in a month."

"Give him the cocktail, and set off an attack."

 _These things never change, do they?_ "No."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't want me to."

"I'm not going to sue you. I'm not going to report you."

"He might."

"He's paralyzed! Either you cure him, or he won't be writing any letters."

"I'm not gonna do it." The ducklings get the hint and walk away as House continues.

"Why not?"

"You keep asking me that question; my answer doesn't change. I gave him the parameters, it's his call."

Stacy shoves him. "You want him to die."

House raises his voice a little, grabbing the wall fro balance. "I diagnosed him. I did my job. You want somebody to tie him down and force him into treatment, well, you're way better at that than I am."

"Is that what this is? Payback for your leg? How many times have we been over this; I saved your life."

 _More like you ruined my life._ "Yeah, maybe."

"You're going to kill my husband to teach me a lesson?"

"No, he's going to die because he's too stubborn to make the right choice."

"Now we're in your territory."

"I'm respecting your husband's decision; I don't see why you've got a problem with that."

"Because it's crap! Because you browbeat patients, intimidate them, lie to them. If you think you're right, you don't give a damn what they think. I did what you do all the time, the only difference is I did it to you."

House leers into her face. "He'll never forgive you."

Stacy backs away but doesn't lose eye contact. "Yeah, he will."

Stacey and the ducklings are with Mark at a quarter till noon.

"Still no change." Foreman declares.

"He's not getting worse?" Stacey is holding Mark's hand.

"No, no change at all."

"And that's consistent with AIP, right? Until he has another attack his condition's stable?"

"Yeah." Gilmar nods.

"Mark, you've got to –"

"I don't want to take that test." He disagrees. "Not until they're sure."

"You don't know Greg."

"Not like you do. I only met him when he drugged me."

At the doorway, House pipes up. "Boy, are my ears burning."

"What's that?" He eyes something in the older teen's hand.

House holds up a syringe. "Cocktail hour. Just because you can't hoist a few doesn't mean you should be left out."

"Get away from me."

Stacy places her free hand on her husband's chest. "Mark, this is what he thinks is wrong with you."

"You trust his judgment more than mine?"

"His _medical_ judgment."

"And you'd bet my life on that."

"I would."

"I don't."

"Smart. Too bad you're paralyzed." He takes the IV to push the syringe, but Foreman stops him. "Bing! Paging Dr. Foreman!" House mimics the intercom and then glares at his underling. "Leave the room. It's not your problem."

"You need the consent from him."

"Doc, he ain't right in the head!"

"Then you need a court order." Gilmar crosses her arms.

"Okay, then get one. We'll wait here. I won't do nothin'." The ducklings move so they're forming a wall between House and Mark's bed. "Oh, love the Musketeer thing. I got goosebumps."

Gilmar holds out her hand. "Give me the syringe."

Stacy, on the other hand, is in near tears. "Please, if you're right this may be his only shot."

"So what's your plan? You take the big, dark one, I've got the little girl and the Aussie will run like a scared wombat if things turn rough. I can't do it." He turns away, and everyone but Stacey relaxes. With their guards down, House separates Gilmar and Chase; he sticks the syringe in Mark's leg.

"You son of a bitch!" Mark screams.

"See what I did there?" House almost growls. Part of him doesn't want it to work. Part of him wants Stacey to suffer and know it was at her hands.

"When does it happen?" The girl in question asks.

Chase checks Mark's vitals. "If he had AIP, it should have already happened."

"Everyone's different."

"This is not good." Foreman shakes his head. "He could have embolism, tachycardia, stroke –" Foreman is interrupted by Mark, who goes into an attack.

"What's happening?" Stacey demands to know.

"Two milligrams of Ativan!" Chase calls out.

"Is that an attack?"

Everyone ignores Stacey's questioning. Gilmar runs over with the Ativan, but House swipes it away with his cane.

"No, you'll pollute the sample! Chase, get urine from the catheter."

"It's not an attack, he's stroking!" Foreman shouts over the chaos.

"He needs Ativan!" Chase urges.

"This is not a stroke!" House nods to the monitors. "Delta wave bursts just at the base of the spasm."

The catheter falls to the floor. Chase looks up. "Catheter's out, and there's no way to collect the sample"

Foreman glances to the monitors as well. "Heart rate's in the 40s, bradycardia, we're losing him!"

"Hold him down!" House orders.

"Give him something!" Stacey cries out.

"No pain killers!" House orders.

"You were wrong!" Foreman shouts.

House doesn't listen, but grabs a syringe and sticks the needle into Mark's bladder, pulling out the urine sample. "Straight from the bladder, that's as fresh as it gets. Will you give him the Ativan already? He doesn't need to be awake for this."

In the lab, House is performing tests on the urine sample. He swirls the urine after adding the chemical to it.

"It's still yellow." Gilmar points out unhelpfully.

House grabs a lamp. "Move."

"What?"

Chase scoffs. "You think another light's gonna make the difference?"

"Organic chem.. More lights, more oxidation. Ring any bells?" The sample turns black. "Start the patient on 150 milligrams glucose, 75 milligrams hematin."

The three younger doctors leave, leaving House alone to breathe. Hours later, at four p.m., Stacy is holding Mark's hand, which moves.

"Hey."

"Hey." She smiles.

"You want to thumb wrestle? Come on." Stacy gives him a kiss. "He's still a maniac."

"I know." House is watching behind the blinds. Gilmar is watching House.

"Dr. House? How's he doing?"

"Never better."

"I thought you were too screwed up to love anyone. I was wrong. You just couldn't love me. It's okay. I'm happy for you."

She walks off. In House's office at six o'clock, he's opened the blinds to look at the rain. Stacy walks in smiling.

"You fixed him."

 _Wish I hadn't._ "De nada." He responds without turning around.

"Thank you. You were right."

"He's gonna be fine."

"No, about me. I'm not over you. You were, you were the one, you always will be. But I can't be with you."

House finally turns around. "So I'm the guy, but you want the other guy, who by definition can never be the guy."

"What's so great about you, you always think you're right. What's so frustrating about you is you are right so much of the time. You are brilliant, funny, surprising, sexy… but with you I was lonely, and with Mark there's room for me."

"Okay."

Stacy kisses him on the cheek, then leaves. House gets out of the elevator in the lobby at eight o'clock, set to leave. Cuddy, running down the stairs, meets up with him.

"I want to run something by you."

House replies loudly, "I will not have sex with you! Not again! Miserable, that first time. All that desperate, administrative need –"

Cuddy cuts him off. "Stacy's husband is going to need close monitoring at the hospital. And since we can definitely use her back here, I've offered her a job. General Counsel."

In a much quieter voice, House asks, "Did she say yes?"

"She said only if it was okay with you."

House plugs his headphones in, cranking up the shuffle on his mp3 player. Ironically, The Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" plays as he signs out and walks off.

"Yes or no?" Cuddy calls.

"Fine. Good." House waves her off.

At House's place at eleven o'clock, he pours himself a drink and downs it. He throws his cane over to the couch, attempts to take a normal step, and collapses. He then retreats and sits back on the piano bench. Meanwhile, Mark and Stacy are hugging on the hospital bed. As midnight rings, Greg takes his bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket. He shakes out a pill, tosses it in the air, and catches it in his mouth. He lets it wash over so he can have some rest, whereas Petra Gilmar has snuck down to the kitchen in her house. She fetches a muffin from the fridge, lights a candle and quietly sings to herself as she's just turned sixteen.

 **Hi! I've finished a whole season. Don't worry. It doesn't end here. I'm gonna keep it up through the second season too. That's where it** _ **really**_ **starts going off-kilter. As I've stated before, I could care less for Huddy. I don't trust Stacey, and Cameron irritates me. She'll be back, of course, but most likely under other circumstances. How are you guys feeling Petra? I love that name. I don't know why; there's just something about it.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hi, peoples! Smile pretty, pretty! I've spent my day reorganizing my room. It looks like a tornado's split through, but I'm not quite done yet. I've found a** _ **Hey, Arnold!**_ **bedspread in my aunt's attic too. Well, she's moving and said she was leaving behind "all the crap that wasn't hers" in the estate sale. She invited the family to go through everything and take whatever we wanted. Nice of her, huh? She kinda reminds me of House in some ways. Here's 2.01 – Acceptance. House, Cuddy, Wilson – 19; Foreman, Gilmar – 16; Chase – 15. Cameron is also 15, by the way. Her birthday was in July too. And I changed the name of Cuddy's assistant… Well, it's August 5** **th** **now – the week before school starts.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim**

It is ten o'clock in the morning. House is walking toward Cuddy's office. He sees Stacy talking with her, and pops a Vicodin. He walks in, and is stopped by a twenty-something man standing in the corner.

"You can't go in there."

"Who are you, and why are you wearing a tie?"

"I'm Teddy, Dr. Cuddy's new assistant. Can I tell her what it's regarding?"

House scoffs. "Yes. I would like to know why she gets a secretary and I don't."

"I'm her assistant, not her secretary. I graduated from Rutgers."

"Hmm. I didn't know they had a secretarial school. Well, I hope you took some classes in sexual harassment law. Does the word "ka-ching" mean anything to you? I'm going in now." House walks in.

Cuddy glares at him. "Dr. House, we are in the middle of a meeting."

"What's with hiring a male secretary? JDate not working out?"

Stacy smirks. "He _is_ cute. Be careful."

"She's not like you. She can't just walk into a bar and pick up her soul mate in twenty minutes."

"I met Mark at a fundraiser that happened to be held at a –"

House cuts her off. "You met me at a strip club."

Stacy plays along, as the first time they had sex, they were thirteen and had just snuck into a strip club. "You were the worst two dollars I ever spent." She looks at Cuddy. "We'll catch up later."

"Stacy, it's House. I know you can handle it."

"Nothing to handle. He obviously wants to talk to you alone."

As she leaves, Cuddy glares at her intruder. "If you have a problem working with Stacy you should have said so."

"What was I supposed to do? Ask her to leave? That's just rude. Death row guy. I want the case."

"How do you even know about him? You don't have access to the hospital's mainframe."

"No, but "partypants" does."

Cuddy cringes. "You stole my password?"

"Hardly counts as stealing; it's a pretty obvious choice."

"Well, I have already assigned Death Row Guy to Dr. Nolo."

"Nolo? Well, I don't want to say anything bad about another doctor, but… especially a useless drunk…"

Cuddy sneers. "You are addicted to pain pills."

"But I'm not useless. Tell Nolo I'm talking over."

"Dr. Nolo is a board certified cardiologist."

"Oh, good. I'm sure he'll explore all the usual options for why a guy's heart starts beating so fast it pumps out air instead of blood. Wait a second – there are no usual options!"

"How badly do you want this?"

House replies with no hesitation, "I will give you two more clinic hours this week."

"Don't bend over for the soap." She smirks, handing him the file.

An hour later, House is in the hospital lobby, with the ducklings behind him.

"Just the heart, or the patient have any other complaints?" Gilmar questions.

"The patient's not talking to anybody."

"Where are we going?" Chase asks.

"You are going to the clinic for two hours."

"Me? Why?"

"Talk to Cuddy. House shrugs. "She's got me going to Mercer State Prison, Capital Sentences unit, I don't know."

"Aren't there better ways to spend our time?" Foreman asks.

"Good question. What makes a person deserving? Is a man who cheats on his wife more deserving than a man who kills his wife?"

"Uh… yeah. Actually, he is."

"What about a child molester? Certainly not a good guy, but he didn't kill anybody. Maybe he can get antibiotics, but no MRIs. What about you? What medical care should you be denied for being a car thief? Tell you what: the three of you work out a list of what medical treatments a person loses based on the crime they committed. I'll review it when I get back."

House leaves the hospital. Gilmar and Foreman exit the lobby, which leaves Chase to do the clinic hours. House arrives at the prison just past one, unfortunately having to ditch his regular lunch with Wilson.

"Your patient shanked one inmate his first month here, broke another one's neck, nearly decapitated one of my guards…" The warden warns him.

"Relax, I've got a great bedside manner." Hosue responds sarcastically.

"Too dangerous to house him in the infirmary. You don't have to worry, we've taken every precaution. I've had my men clear from the cell all pens, paperclips and staplers. Any supplies that might be used as a weapon." He leads House to Clarence. The inmate is shackled to a cot in a room full of office supplies. "Open her up! For your visit, we've got him cuffed and shackled."

"And yet, you're staying out there." House comments.

The warden nods, and then grabs House's cane. "Uhp! You're going to have to give me that. Wouldn't want anybody to get hurt."

In the clinic, an eighteen-year-old woman named Cindy is sitting in an exam room.

Chase enters. "Hi."

"Hi."

"I'm Dr. Chase. How're you feeling?"

"Eh. Little cough, no big deal."

"Okay. What're you doing here?"

Cindy smiles. "I just got a job at the university. They need a health clearance. Apparently I'm a little anemic, so they made me get some more tests."

"Any family history of anemia?"

"Not that I know of. My mom died of cancer when I was a kid, my dad's heart gave out a couple of years ago."

"Brothers and sisters?"

"I'm afraid it's a short family history. That's it. I had a fiancé once, but… didn't stick. My tests should be back, probably in that file."

"Probably." He looks at the lung x-ray, and then looks concerned.

"Is everything okay?"

"Um, just wait here. I'll be back."

An hour later, Dr. Wilson is looking at the x-ray in his office.

"Did you redo the x-ray?"

"Twice." Chase bites his lip.

"Well, you don't need a consult. You know the diagnosis."

Chase protests. "All she has is a cough."

Back at the prison, House is examining Clarence. He shines a light in his eyes, and then looks at his hands.

"Bluish tinge to the fingernails, lips… he's hypoxic. "

"What's that mean?" The warden calls out.

"It means he's not getting enough oxygen. You know how people say you can't live without love? Well, oxygen's even more important. He's got fluid in his lungs, breathing rate of 50… he needs to be intubated and put on a respirator."

"Don't have a respirator."

"Better get one in about an hour, or you're gonna lose him."

"I'll make out a requisition. The state's already sentenced this man to die."

House flips open his cell phone. "I think the state was a tad more specific about _how_." When he hears another voice on the phone, he starts speaking clearer. "This is Dr. Gregory House. I need an ambulance to pick-up at Mercer State Prison."

"Wasted call, my men will stop them at the gate. No way a Death Row inmate leaves my prison, at least not through the front doors."

Less than half an hour later, House is walking out of the hospital elevator with Clarence tied to a gurney, paramedics, and a lot of guards.

"You work fast."

"So do you." Stacey smirks.

"Was that a shot?"

"Yeah. It was easy once I convinced the clerk to take it to Judge Markem, she's a sucker for Eighth Amendment arguments."

"Stop, I'm getting turned on."

"House!" Cuddy shouts, running over.

In his best Scooby-Doo imitation, House adopts an _I'm-in-trouble_ look. "Ruh-row!"

"It was just a consult! You expect us to shut down an entire floor for this guy?!"

"Did you do something to your hair?"

"Stacy?!" She looks over to her new hire.

"You said you cleared with her –" Stacey narrow her eyes.

"Come on. You've known me how long and you still don't know when I'm joshin' ya?"

"Take him back to prison. Now."

"No, can't. See, ironically I'm bound by this court order which your ace attorney got. I have to make him all better before shipping him back for the state to kill him. Is it just me, or is that weird? Anyway, we're walking."

Chase enters House's office at two thirty. House is staring at a file in his hand.

"Somebody left this on my chair. It's clever. Forces me to either deal with the file or never sit down again."

"Cindy Kramer. I told her you'd see her."

"You shouldn't have told her that. She's got metastatic squamous cell lung cancer, six months, tops."

"Have you even looked at the x-ray?"

"No, just guessing. It's a new game. If I'm wrong, she gets a stuffed bear."

"A spot on a x-ray doesn't necessarily mean that she's terminal."

"I love children. So filled with hope."

"It could be pneumonia. It could be sarcodosis."

"Could be, if she didn't already have swollen hilar lymph nodes on the other lung."

"Could we at least brainstorm for other ideas?"

House sighs and takes the x-ray and puts it up on the light board.

"Thank you." House writes on the board as Chase continues. "I still think it could be pneumonia and sarcodosis, but we should check for tuberculosis and definitely rule out congestive heart failure." He looks up to see that House has written "denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance" on the board. "The five stages of dying."

"Exactly. Personally, I think it's all just new-age crap, but from your tear-filled, puppy-dog eyes I think I've made my point. Now go tell Cindy Whatever-her-name-is that she's dying."

He walks into Diagnostics, where Gilmar and Foreman are sitting. "Tachycardia, pulmonary edema, likely suspects?"

Chase angrily follows him i.]" The Death Row guy? That's who you're working on instead of Cindy?"

"God, I've got to learn not to beat around the bush. By dying, I meant no matter what we do. Very, very soon she is going to be dead. Is it still to subtle?"

"I took an oath to do no harm."

"Yeah, well, it's not like they make you sign it or anything."

"We cure your patient, he goes back to Death Row. He goes back to Death Row, they kill him!"

"He stays here and we don't treat him, he dies, and I still don't treat Cindy Lou-Who."

"Can we get on with this?" Foreman cuts in.

"Yeah, I knew I could count on your help for your homie."

Foreman sarcastically laughs. "Exactly, I'm black. I sympathize for guys who grew up in the city kept down by the man."

Gilmar smirks. House nods. "Makes sense to me."

"It's a bunch of crap. You can't blame society for the fact that you chose to become a killer. The guy's probably a heroin addict, that explains the tachycardia, which caused the pulmonary edema."

"How does an inmate on Death Row get his hands on heroin?" Chase asks.

"Are you serious?" Gilmar laughs.

"The girl knows prisons. When we've got a yachting question, we'll come to you. Okay, drugs it is. Test his hair, blood, urine, the works."

Gilmar and Foreman get up, but Chase still has his angry face on. House makes an _"after you"_ motion with his hand, and Chase finally moves on. In the hallway, Chase sarcastically thanks his co-workers for having his back. The three are soon stopped by guards who pat them down before they can go to see Clarence. The guards check them out, taking away any implements unnecessary. The trio gathers their samples.

"Department of Justice statistics show that it's a racially motivated form of punishment. Black defendants are ten times more likely to get a death sentence than whites." Gilmar mentions.

"Doesn't mean we need to get rid of the death penalty, do we?" Foreman retorts. "It just means we need to kill more white people." Clarence wakes up with a start. "It's okay, you're in a hospital, we're taking care of you."

He starts to move around violently. Chase jumps into action. "Stay calm, you're gonna be – push two milligrams Atvan!" Clarence pulls the safety rails off of the bed, causing the guards to come in and force him down, but not before he pulls the intubation tube out of his throat.

"Water… water." The inmate begs.

In the Diagnostics lounge at four o'clock, House is pouring himself a big red mug of coffee. The ducklings tiredly walk in.

"What's the differential for being thirsty?"

Chase doesn't think it has anything to do with his diagnosis. "He was just a little dehydrated, and out of his mind. We upped his saline drip, he's fine now."

Foreman nods. "Blood and urine tests came back clean, no sign of opiates in his system."

Gilmar grabs a marker and is about to write on the board, when House snaps his head up.

"Don't do that."

"What, you have some House-theory explaining heroin use despite a negative test?"

"Nope. Only I get to write on the board." He titles the board "Dead Man Dying"."So it's not drugs. What else can cause the heart to do wind sprints? You got the blood work back, any" Stacy walks into his office and looks at him through the wall "– thing out of the ordinary?"

"His bi-carb is low." Gilmar acknowledges.

"Yeah, but which column? Could be the result of the tachycardia, could be the cause?"

"It's the cause." Chase answers immediately.

"Why, because you want it to be? Let's see how well that works with your other patient."

"We're just talking semantics here. We should put him on a bi-carb drip and send him back."

"Right, buff his numbers. Don't bother trying to figure out the underlying cause. I thought you cared about patients."

Foreman crosses his arms. "Our job isn't to make sure he can bounce his grandkids on his lap, our job is to get him healthy enough to go back to Death Row."

House closes the blinds so he can't see Stacy. "Our job is to diagnose him. What? Mommy and Daddy are having a little fight, it doesn't mean we stop loving you. Now, go outside and play. Get Daddy some smokes and an arterial blood gas test." They all exit. As House leaves, he nearly runs into Stacy, who does not look amused. "Wow. That was impressive. Okay, what number am I thinking of?"

"Were you trying to get me fired?" She scowls. "If you didn't want me working here, why didn't you just say so?"

"I just don't want you working right here, in my office." He answers honestly. "But anywhere else in the building is fine. It's a big hospital."

"I'm a lawyer. You're a jerk. There's gonna to be some overlap."

"God, I hope that was a euphemism. "

"Cuddy just reamed me."

"I hope that one means what I think it means."

"For trusting you! She figured when she hired me she'd at least have someone you couldn't walk all over."

"The number was six, by the way."

"I need to know, can I trust you?"

"If I hadn't lied to you about Cuddy's approval, my patient would be dead."

"Great. Now I know. Now we can work together."

At ten till six o'clock, Foreman is preparing to draw some blood from Clarence's thigh. "I'm drawing some blood from your femoral artery."

"From my what?"

"Runs through your groin."

"You think you're gonna stick me in the jewels with that?"

"It's really closer to your thigh. Technically, at this point, it seems like your jewels are more for display purposes, anyway."

"Hold up, hold up. Give me some pain killers, or something."

"Tough guy like you don't need 'em."

"Forget that, numb me up, man." Foreman gets the painkillers, and starts to inject it. As he does, Clarence notices a tattoo on his wrist. "You got some gang ink? Let me see that."

"It's a Native American symbol. It means "the force of life."" The sixteen-year-old explains, as it was a birthday gift this year.

"That's what you tell all these white dudes so they let you play doctor?"

"Yep. Got 'em all fooled."

"For real, how's a brother like you go from banger to wearing a white coat?"

Foreman stares back at him. "How's a brother like you go from loving a woman to punching her skull in?"

"Bitch stepped out." Foreman stabs him with the needle and Clarence screams. "Argh!"

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "Sorry about that. Guess I didn't use enough lidocaine."

The team enters Diagnostics at eight o'clock that night. Foreman hands over the test results.

"Blood gas came back with a pH of 7.28 and decreased HCO3."

"Which means two things. Most importantly, Gilmar was wrong about the bi-carb, and less significantly, we have a new symptom. Anion gap acidosis. Who's chubby? Come on, pretend he loves puppies. Pretend he's a human being. What've you got?"

"I think we should reconsider drugs."

"He already tested negative." Gilmar shakes her head.

"That's why I said reconsider. Back in juvie, I cut up oregano and sold it as pot."

"Is that how you put yourself through school?" Gilmar scoffs.

"What if Clarence thought he was taking heroin, but it was something else?"

House considers this. "What "something else" could lead to anion gap acidosis?"

"Mudpiles."

House raises an eyebrow to Gilmar. "Well, you don't have to ask. Just wash your hands before you come back."

She rolls her eyes. "Methanol, uremia, diabetes…"

"Oh, it's a mnemonic. That makes sense, too."

"Paraldehyde, INH, lactic acid…"

"Rewind."

"INH?"

"Yahtzee!"

Foreman nods. "Drugs for tuberculosis."

Gilmar puts her hands on her hips. "Nearly a quarter of the prison population is infected with TB."

"Clever entrepreneur like Foreman here, chops up his meds, passes it off as heroin."

"INH poisoning would explain all the symptoms."

"Who wants to head over to the prison and find Clarence's secret stash?"

No one looks too thrilled. Just as Foreman stands up to take lead, House claps his hands. "Great, Chase it is."

"I assume you have a reason beyond wanting to make me completely miserable?"

House nods. "You've got a prettier mouth. Better chance the inmates will open up to you."

At six o'clock the following morning, House is watching his medical drama on a patient's room's television. He's eating chips.

"Perhaps I'll come out looking just as monsterous? I mean, isn't that what I deserve?" A guy on the program asks, with bandages all over his face.

Wilson walks in. "The man's in a coma."

"He didn't mind. I asked."

"You're getting crumbs all over him."

"Why do you think they put TVs in coma patients' rooms, anyway?" House asks instead.

"Some people think they can still hear."

"So leave them a radio. His eyes are closed; who thinks they can see?"

Wilson sits on the opposite side of the bed. "Do you know why people are nice to other people?"

"Oh, I know this one. Because people are good, decent and caring." He answers in a patronizing voice before returning to his usual snark. "Either that, or people are cowards. If I'm mean to you, you'll be mean to me. Mutually assured destruction."

"Exactly. You're gonna eat these chips?" Wilson reaches for the bag left on the coma guy's stomach, but House grabs them away.

"You gonna get to your point?"

"You need people to like you."

"I don't care if people like me."

"…Yes. But you need people to like you because you need people. Unless you think you can get the next court order yourself. If Stacy can't trust you, you can't use her." House nods and hands over the chip bag. "And that's not even dealing with the greater agenda…" House takes the bag back before Wilson can have any. "… of getting her to dump her husband and fall in love with you all over again."

 _Seriously? He thinks I'm that petty? Well, I probably am. No, I don't want to date her. I don't trust her. I want to humiliate her. I want her to suffer. I do not want to date her._ "Look I know you're friends with her, but there is a code. Bros before hos, man." He sticks his fist out, but his pager beeps. He reluctantly reads it and tosses the chip bag to Wilson. "Crap."

"What is it?" He asks, finally eating a chip.

"Death Row guy is dying."

In Clarence's room, the patient is inert. There are beeps coming from all over, but Foreman is just standing in the corner.

"Bradycardia. His heart rate's dropped to 30, it's not going to hold that much longer."

House glowers at him. "Are you just waiting to call time of death, or are you gonna give him atropine?"

"Temporary fix?"

"Right. Don't know why those diabetics are all hung up on insulin. They're just gonna have to have to take more." He starts to push the Atropine into the IV.

"Atropine's only gonna buy you a few hours! We don't even know what's wrong with him…"

"Just get out of here." House snaps. Foreman leaves as Clarence's heart rate starts to climb.

Meanwhil, Chase is looking through the storage cell where Clarence was being held when he was sick. His cell rings.

"This is Chase."

House I standing at the hospital desk near Diagnostics. "Did you beat any confessions out of anybody?"

"I haven't spoken to any inmates."

"Does anybody do their jobs anymore?"

"I've decided Clarence's life isn't worth risking mine for."

"I appreciate your candor. Did you even go to the prison or are you just out playing polo?"

"I'm searching both Clarence's cells. I figure, if he's on something, it's stashed somewhere."

"Unless he finished it."

"Yeah, that'd be a shame. He could have shoved it anywhere, there's envelopes stacked to the ceiling, bottles of copier toner, boxes of rubber bands…"

He goes on, but House has heard enough. "Call it off. Come on back."

It's noon when House enters Clarence's room with a wheeled tray. He closes the blinds, and takes out two sample jars.

Clarence is apprehensive. "What's going on?"

"You're dying." He states point-blankly as he takes out a bottle of rum and pours two shots' worth. "A man deserves a last drink."

Clarence grins. "You're okay."

"Thanks. That means a lot." He helps Clarence to drink his shot.

Meanwhile, Chase is back, taking blood from Cindy.

"All the tests have been inconclusive?"

"Diagnostics is more of an art than a science." He offers her a half-smile.

"Should I be worried right now?"

"I work for one of the top diagnosticians in the country. We're pouring all of our energy into figuring this out."

It's been awhile. House and Clarence are pouring more shots from a much emptier bottle.

House slurs slightly. "Thought you conviiicts knew how to drink. You're at least threeee sh-shots behind." He looks as if he's going to offer a shot to Clarence, but drinks it himself. "Now you're fooouur shots behind."

"You betterrrr give me the neeeext one or I'm gonnonnna kill you." Clarence slurs as well. There's a small pause, and then they both laugh.

Gilmar runs in quickly. "House…" She stops short as she sees House laughing and pouring shots. "I was just waiting for test results, I was…"

"Little busyyyy right now. Getting my driiiink on."

"Unbelievable." She shakes her head and leaves.

"Oof." Clarence downs another shot. "That's the fiiinest piece I've seeeeen in ten yearssss."

"I could've hiiiit that."

"And yoouu didn't."

"Eh."

"Then yoouu're the one that sh-should be locked uup."

"Tell me someth-thing, I've beeeen trying to figure this oouut. Why does a guyyy…" He gives Clarence another shot. "… who's on D-death Row suddenly tryyy to off himself? I knowww you drank that copiiier fluid. It's not as vis-visually dramatic as slitttting your wr-wrists with a homemade shiv, but it'll, it'll do the trick."

Clarence hiccups. "It j-just hit me all of a ssssudden. It was like, theyyy tell me wwwhen to eat, when to sleeeeep, when to walk, when to tttalk, everything. I had to take con, control of ssssomething, right? When to die, I figured that wwwas as good as anything."

House pours more rum. "Annnd that thought just c-came to you. Just like th-that."

"Mmmman, I told you. Twennnty-three hours a…"

House forces another shot down his throat. "Mmm. Well, l-look. Here's the gggood news. The copiiier fluid you d-drank contains about nnnintey percent methanol, which is very poooiiisonous and you took mmmmore than enough to kill yoursssself. The bad news is the aalllcohol you just drank containsssss so much ethanollll that it's gonna binnnnnd with that nnnnasty formic acid rrrraging through your bodyyy, and you're just gonna peeeee it outtt. Harmlesssssly."

"Mannnn, you are drunk."

"Yesssss, I am. I also ssssaved your lifffe."

He takes another shot and they continue laughing. At nine o'clock a.m. on August sixth, House enters the hospital, wearing darkened sunglasses.

"Morning!" Stacey calls out, noticing when House winces at the sound. "Your head hurt?"

"No, you just have a very grating voice."

"You always were a lightweight."

"Three straight rums does not a lightweight make. Why are you talking to me?"

"Can't it be enough that I want to cause you pain? The patient's okay now, you're going to send him back?"

"Absolutely." He walks into the elevator. "Oh elevator, I've missed you!" The door of the elevator almost closes, but House stops it with his cane, and it opens again. "Can I trust you?"

Stacy looks a bit thrown aback for the question. "You used to."

House nods. "I still think the patient's sick. I'm keeping him here. Now, either you can do your job and keep the hospital informed, or you can help me make sure the hospital is not informed and buy me some time."

The door closes. Chase is busy writing Cindy's symptoms on a corner of the white board.

"Have you done a CT?" Gilmar asks.

"Yeah, I have."

"With contrast?" Foreman adds.

House walks in. "He's done everything he needs to do except tell his patient that she's dying. I told you, only I get to play with the markers." He erases what Chase wrote. "Our prisoner has a new symptom."

"I'm not telling Cindy she's dying until the diagnosis is confirmed."

"I'm not buying that _Clarence_ is trying to take control of his life by suicide. Healthy people don't kill themselves."

"Healthy people don't kill other people." Foreman snarks.

"Guy just filed an appeal in a state that hasn't actually killed anybody in about thirty years."

"What if it wasn't suicide?" Chase opts. "What if it was an escape plan? Drink enough methanol to get transferred to a hospital, try to escape from here?"

"Excellent. Explains everything, except the symptom that got him here. His heart went nuts before he got stuck in that storage cell and chugged a toner martini. I think there's something going on in his head. Check for intracranial lesions, brain infections, autoimmune diseases… do a CT, LP, full workup. State's paying, so go nuts."

They all leave, Chase in a huff. An hour later, Foreman is the lucky one who gets to do a spinal tap. He's looking at Clarence's back, and it has a number of scars in addition to the prison tats.

"Where'd you get these scars?"

"I got shived my first month in. After I healed up I got mines. You guys still think I'm sick?"

Foreman preps a needle. "Obviously."

"Why you care? Why don't you just let me die?"

"Well, I'm different than you."

"Right, you love me like your own mama. That's why the nurse says you kicked her out when my heart nearly stopped."

Foreman ignores him. "Take a deep breath." He sticks Clarence in the spine with the needle. "Any family history of mental illness?"

"I always heard my pa was crazy; I never met the man. With my mom, it was the drugs."

"Any siblings?"

"Got a brother, pretty much raised him on my own."

"Inspirational story. He doin' time, too?"

Clarence snaps up. "Hey. He's a good kid. Don't go judgin' what you don't know."

"How's his health?"

"I haven't heard from him since I went inside. Spent sixteen years with him, changed his damn diapers. Can you imagine your whole life bein' about the worst thing you ever did?"

"You killed four people. Somehow, making mac and cheese just the way he wants kind of loses its significance."

House enters his office past noon. Chase is sitting at his desk.

"Oh no. Now you've left your entire body in my chair. What does that mean you want?"

"I need a segmental bronchoalveolar lavage."

"I take it the CT with contrast came back."

"They're not definitive."

"Biopsy would be."

"Biopsy would be invasive and unnecessary."

"And definitive." House shakes his head. "But you don't want definitive, you want to hang on to your delusions as long as you can."

"A lavage could prove it's not cancer."

"But you need me to approve the procedure. Must be a bitch. The answer is no."

"Why? Because it's me? I've jumped on the bandwagon. I hate you, okay?"

"Great. Let's treat her."

"What is it? You won't help Cindy but you're obsessed with this piece of dirt! Are you just trying to prove that who someone is doesn't matter, that all that matters is your stupid puzzle? Fine. Treat them the same. That's all I'm asking. One test."

"Wow, that is remarkable. According to those patchouli-oli selling new-agers, it's supposed to be the terminal patient, but you're going through the five stages. You just made a completely seamless transition from anger to bargaining. Cover two more of my clinic hours, and you can have your one procedure."

Chase nods and leaves. At one o'clock, House has his lunch with Wilson. They talk over cases while House steals Wilson's fries. Meanwhile, Gilmar and Foreman are busy scanning Clarence's brain.

"No lesions, no aneurysms. Ironically, the mind of a killer looks completely normal." Gilmar frowns.

"If someone asks you to describe me to them, what's the first thing you'd tell them?"

"Insecure." She answers immediately. "What are you asking?"

"Like, if you were setting me up on a blind date. Would you describe me to the girl as the black guy, a neurologist, car thief?"

"This guy's really getting to you, isn't he?"

Chase performs the procedure on Cindy. At two o'clock, he's looking at the test results with Wilson. "There's no sign of infection."

Wilson sighs. "You're gonna have to do the biopsy."

Meanwhile, Cuddy is yelling at House in his office.

"Your Death Row guy's still here!"

"Yeah, sorry. Just gotta get him stabilized. Probably keep him on fluids for a few more hours, then off he goes."

"Oh yeah? 'Cause I'm figuring that you still think he's sick."

"Figuring requires deductive reasoning. I'm figuring that you did no figuring. Stacy just ratted me out, right? So much for attorney-client privledge."

"I'm the client, you moron. Stacy has a duty to this hospital."

"Right."

"I'm sending him back to prison."

"Whoa, can't. Court order."

"Court order says he has to be declared healthy. Doesn't specify what doctor needs to make that declaration."

Cuddy leaves, and House goes to follow. Half an hour later, Clarence is screaming his head off.

Cuddy is bored at the end of his bed. "What is it, Clarence?"

"My gut!"

"Would you describe it as a shooting pain? A throbbing pain? Or maybe an imaginary pain because you don't want to go back to prison?"

"Where does it hurt?" House demands.

"My gut, I feel like I'm getting stabbed!" He screams again.

"Well, he'd know. Let me take a look."

Cuddy scoffs. "Oh, so everybody lies except a convicted murderer."

House removes the covers to reveal blood flowing out of Clarence's nether regions. Clarence screams a lot for emphasis as House glares at Cuddy.

"I don't think he's faking this stuff. What do you think, Doctor?"

House is looking at Clarence's prison records in his office when Stacy enters. It's five o'clock in the afternoon.

"I didn't have any choice."

"No, you had to tell Cuddy. She's your boss." House replies without looking up. "I get it. Hitler thought he was doing the world a favor, too."

"Yeah, pretty much on that same level."

"Gandhi didn't march the sea because his buddies asked him too, Pol Pot didn't wipe out the teachers because he wanted to make friends."

"You're not making friends right now."

"I trusted you." _During the infarction, I trusted you._

"I know."

House shkes his head, finally meeting her eyes. "Wilson's a fool. I'm an idiot."

"I had to do what I thought was right."

"It's the only reason anybody does anything."

In the Diagnostics conference at eight o'clock, the ducklings have gathered.

"The surgery went fine. They removed almost a foot of necrotic bowel. They're shackling him and taking him to recovery." Foreman comments, growing tired.

"I wonder. I wonder why Clarence killed that second inmate."

"Fine, I'll bite. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Everything we do is dictated by motive." House explains as he erases the white board. "Why did he kill his girlfriend?"

"Because he's a maniac!"

"Is that the reason he gave?"

"She was cheating on him."

"Jealousy." He writes it on the board. "That gets him sent to prison, where he kills inmate number one. Why?"

"Guy attacked him first."

"Revenge. Who'd he killed after that?"

"Prison guard." Gilmar pipes up.

"Who had a file full of abusive complaints. Probably been kicking Clarence's ass for months."

"Clarence is just ridding the world of bad seeds." Foreman huffs.

"Call that one "retribution". Then he kills inmate number two. Anybody know why?" Gilmar looks through the file in response. House stops her. "Nuh-uh. It's not in there." He draws a giant question mark.

House meets up with Clarence in the patient's room at nine thirty. The teen doctor spends over two hours trying to find the true way of thinking behind Clarence's actions.

"All of a sudden I got to have a reason?"

"It's an anomaly. Doctors love anomalies. Dark spot on an x-ray, bright spot on an MRI…. Killing that second inmate is the homicidal equivalent of blood in the urine. It doesn't fit. I'm interested in things that don't fit. Tell me why you did it. Your other victims you were almost bragging about. What was different about this guy?"

"It happened when I was in gen-pop. I was in the library, just readin', and I started feelin' real nervous. This guy was staring at me, I could feel his eyes digging holes in the back of my neck, it made me feel crazy. Sweat was pouring down my face. I could hear my heartbeat racing in my ears. I just raged out on the dude."

The following morning (August seventh) at seven o'clock, House, Foreman and Gilmar are walking to the elevator.

"So what's the differential for raging out?"

"Excess testosterone, steroids…" Foreman starts listing off.

"Adrenaline…" Gilmar adds.

"Prep Clarence for surgery." House nods.

"Care to share with the class?" Foreman asks.

"Oh, come on. Do I have to spell it out for you? Pheochromocytoma. Actually, I'm not sure how you spell it. But you said it yourself, adrenaline. Pheochomocytoma sits on top of the adrenal gland, randomly spits out oodles of the stuff. It's perfect, it explains everything. The tachycardia, pulmonary edema, the vasoconstriction that caused the necrotic bowel…"

Gilmar nods in appreciation. "Even explains how he had the strength to rip the rail off his bed."

House enters the elevator, with the other two trailing. Foreman pipes up. "But pheo's extremely rare."

"I love rare. Set up an MRI. Where's Chase?" They shrug. "Like I don't know."

Meanwhile, Wilson is walking toward Cindy's room. Chase is in Cindy's room, talking and laughing with her. Wilson knocks on the glass.

"Dr. Chase? Could I borrow you for a consult?" He nods and goes outside. "Bittersweet thing about being head of the oncology department, I get CCed in all the biopsy results."

Chase nods. "Yeah, I know. She's terminal."

"Yeah. So I take it you were in there informing her?"

Chase looks at the floor. "Well, I… I hadn't exactly gotten around to that, but I was just…"

"Doing what? Making friends?"

"Cindy's divorced. She doesn't have any kids, no siblings, and both her parents are gone…"

"It's not your job to be her friend. Do you understand? And it's not worth it. She feels better her few final days, and you're not the same, maybe for years."

"You don't think it's worth it."

"I _know_ it's not worth it."

"My mom w…" He stops, looks at Cindy, and turns back. "My dad met her just after he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. If he hadn't married her, she was alone. When a good person dies, there should be an impact on the world. Somebody should notice. Somebody should be upset."

With that thought in mind, Chase returns to the room. Meanwhile, House is informing Clarence of what is wrong with him.

"Pheo what?"

"I don't even remember. It's just a fancy way of saying small, adrenaline-secreting tumor. Yeah, that clarified it for you. All you need to know is if I'm right, we can fix it. Just gotta to find it first. We need an MRI. It's completely painless for most people."

"But not for me?"

"I assume you got those tattoos in prison. Prison tats often contain inks with heavy metals. The MRI's basically a giant magnet. It'd suck those metallic inks right out of your skin."

Clarence is being put into the MRI at eleven thirty. He looks very anxious. The scan starts, and then he starts screaming. When he begins writhing around, House orders him to stop.

"Stop squirming. Don't make us do this again. Big baby."

"Still don't see anything." Gilmar watches the screens.

"Turn it off!" Clarence screams.

"There's Waldo. Found it, Clarence." House announces.

"Turn it off! Turn this damn thing off!"

House groans, calling over his shoulder as he leaves. "Keep him in there until you guys see it too."

"Son of a bitch." Foreman mutters under his breath not two minutes after.

Foreman enters House's office at seven o'clock that night. "Looks like they got the pheo out successfully. So what now?"

"Clarence goes back to Death Row."

"Just like that?"

House shrugs. "He's cured."

"That tumor caused random shots of adrenaline, which obviously led to the rage attacks that made him become a murderer in the first place."

"My God, you're right! Let's call the surgeons, we've got to save that tumor. Put it on the witness stand."

"We could testify at Clarence's appeal."

House sniffs the air. "You smell that? I think that is the stink of hypocrisy. You wouldn't even consider the notion that Clarence's social upbringing was responsible for what he became, but now you're sprinting to the witness stand to blame everything on a little tumor."

"A person's upbringing and their biology are completely different."

"Yeah. See, you only overcame one of them. Well, let's just give Clarence a free pass, hmmm? Which, is probably going to piss off all those other pheo sufferers who managed to control their rage attacks and become lawyers, race car doctors, or even doctors. Removing that tumor puts a stop to those random shots adrenaline, it doesn't absolve him."

Foreman's eyes widen. "You _want_ him to be executed?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Got an opinion?"

"Everyone's got an opinion."

Foreman turns to leave as House plugs in his headphones. "Hallelujah", the most overused great song in media begins to play. Foreman stops at the door without turning back.

"I, um, I think I'm gonna testify at Clarence's appeal."

House allows himself to smile a little at that. "You'll do what you think is right. On your own time."

Meanwhile, Chase has finally told Cindy that she's dying.

"But it's just a cough."

Chase tries not to cry, remembering his mom, and gives Cindy a hug. It's nine o'clock as Clarence is led out the hospital, flanked by numerous guards. Foreman watches him leave. House is sitting at his desk, watching his now-almost-empty fourth bottle of rum. He pours some into a coffee mug and looks at the five steps written on his light board. He erases them all but "acceptance", and then that one goes too.

 **Whoo! That's chapter 23 – or chapter one of season 2. Obviously, several things got mixed up to my specifications. Next chapter will have them back in school. Thanks for sticking out so long.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hi, this is scaryfangirl2001 filling in for TicklishOstrich. TO is my best friend and she's sick, in the hospital. I won't go into details. I found this chapter sitting on her computer, and it was mostly done. So, i finished the chaptersode and am giving to all of you - as a gift for TO as well as for you all sticking around.**

 **Am I the only one willing to mix Dr. Pepper with pumpkin spice iced coffee? Well, you're missing out. I bring you 2.02 – Autopsy. It's August 16** **th** **– school's been in session for only a week, and already people are getting sick! Let's go over the ages: House, Cuddy, Wilson – 19; Chase, Gilmar – 16; Gilmar – 15. Gilmar's birthday is next, but not for a few months.**

 **Notice from before stands to claim**

It is four o'clock in the afternoon. A loud sneeze erupts from the closed elevator. Only one person steps out: Greg House. He's got red puffy eyes, and he looks very ill if the hacking is anything to go by. Still, just as he nears the check-out desk to leave an hour early, a certain voice calls out for him.

"House! Need you."

"Uh uh, forget it." He curses how stopped up he sounds. "I'm going home."

Wilson easily catches up and looks at his best friend worriedly. "Hay fever?"

House rolls his eyes. "Boy, you must be a doctor and everything!"

"Two minutes."

House eyes the folder in his friend's hand. "No, the purple thingy on the file means that "whoever" is one of yours, which means cancer, which means no way is it two minutes."

"Fine, I'm lying. 30 minutes."

House looks like he's going to sneeze… and then doesn't. "Mystery of life."

"Benadryl might help."

"I already did 1000 milligrams." He sneezes.

"Steam room?"

"Why Jimmy. We'll talk about this in the morning."

"I've got a seven-year-old with cancer. Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma. Terminal kid trumps your stuffy nose."

"Not yet."

"She's hallucinating."

As though that were the magic word, House grabs the folder and returns to the elevator. "So the Rhabdo's in her brain. Make her comfortable she's got about a week."

"Yeah except there is no cancer in her brain. Pristine CT scan, blood tests, protein markers all negative."

"The cancer's in remission? Which means the hallucinations are unconnected."

"Fascinating huh? And not that it matters but if you fix whatever's going on in her head you give her maybe another year. Long time for a seven-year-old."

"No. It'll just fly by."

Despite this, the ducklings are looking at Andie's file in the office just half an hour later.

"Five major surgeries, a bone marrow transplant, 14 rounds of chemo and blast radiation." Foreman reads out.

"If it was me I'd just stay home and watch TV or something. Not lie here under a microscope." Gilmar places her opinion.

House sneezes. "Don't worry, anything happens to you nobody's is going to lift a finger. Differential diagnosis on your marks, get set…"

"Hallucinations could be caused by…" Chase begins.

"Whoa. Wait for it…" House pauses for effect. "And go."

"Latent neurotoxicity from the chemo treatments."

"No." Foreman disagrees. "The patient's last round of chemo was two months ago. We would have seen it by now."

"Genetic component." Gilmar suggests.

Chase shakes his head. "No, nothing on mom. Dad split when she was pregnant." Foreman hands House a cup of tea. "His medical history is also clean."

"What a guy." House remarks as he suspiciously takes the offered drink.

"What about graft vs. host disease from the bone marrow transplant? Infection travels to her brain and she has hallucinations." Gilmar suggests.

Chase sighs. "Blood work and LP were clean."

House looks at the scan. "But where there's infection, there's meningial swelling."

"That CT shows no meningial involvement."

"True. Get a tox screen and MRI."

"We can do that if you want to ignore what we just discussed."

"Sounds good."

"Toxic exposure doesn't make chronological sense." Foreman frowns.

"Yes, there is a third option — she's making it all up because she doesn't want to get in trouble for breaking a mirror. Unfortunately we can't test for that so…" He stops and looks at Gilmar. "Tox screen, MRI and _you,_ " He looks at Chase. "Stay away from the patient."

"What'd I do?"

"Oh well, you'd just get all warm and cuddly around the dying girl and insinuate yourself; end up in a custody battle. Gilmar, you handle the mom. Tell her that you'd just sit home and watch TV and die, but you're going to go though the motions of trying to save her daughter's life. It's a doctor thing." They begin to exit and he finally sips the tea. "What the hell is this?"

"Black walnut and ginger." Foreman answers easily.

"It's nice."

In the MRI room at five o'clock, Gilmar is settling the kid. "Let's lay you down and I'll attach this thingamajiggy."

"Sat monitor." Andie replies.

"Oh, a pro. I don't have to explain anything. I like it." She preps her and finds her central line.

"Central line for the chemo."

"Yeah. It doesn't hurt or anything does it?"

"No it's awesome." She giggles. "Instead of an IV; it saves me a lot of time and a bunch of needle sticks."

Gilmar smiles. "Don't think I've ever heard anyone say they like their central line before. Alright, can I interest you in a walk in the park?" She turns on the wall monitor.

"No thanks."

"Okay." She changes the image to a field of butterflies.

"Don't want any butterflies either; doesn't matter what the walls look like, you're still looking for cancer."

"Not today." Gilmar replies. "We're looking for an infection, but I get your point. You comfortable?"

"Yep."

"Alright let's get this over with."

Andie grins. "A pro. I like it."

Meanwhile, House is in the clinic. He takes a look at the clock behind the nurse's desk. "Whoa look at the time I should have been out of here twenty minutes ago."

Nurse Hannah meets his eyes. "You've only been here twenty minutes."

"Can't slip anything by you can I?"

"There's a patient in one."

"I'm taking a sick day."

"Take some Claritin." Cuddy comments, walking up.

"Everyone's a doctor suddenly."

"Patient in one requested a male doctor." Nurse Hannah waves the clipboard.

"Balls are in your court, Doctor."

House rolls his eyes. "Union rules. I can't check out this guy's seeping gonorrhea this close to dinner."

"Exam room one."

"Well it's sexist and a very dangerous precedent; if people could choose the sex of their doctors you gals would be out of business."

"Exam room one." Cuddy simply repeats again.

In exam room one, House walks in to see a patient holding an open book in front of his pants. He looks to be about fifteen.

"Sore throat?" The kid shyly removes the book to reveal blood-stained pants. "Well it's not lupus. Well not everyone can operate a zipper; the up, the down. What comes next?"

"My new girlfriend never been with a guy who wasn't c-circumcised so she freaked and…"

"Aha, and you wanted Rivkah to feel all gemutlicht. I get it; it's a shandah." The patient drops his pants as House turns toward him. "Gah!"

"I got some box cutters and uh…"

"Just like Abraham did it."

"I sterilized them which, uh, I was told you're…"

"Stop talking. I'm gonna get a plastic surgeon. Get the Twinkie back in the wrapper."

In the hallway outside the clinic, Chase meets up with House. "House. Hey, House. Andie's MRI and tox screen were clean. No infection. No neurotoxins."

Foreman walks up as well. House hands his bag and tosses his cane to Foreman, and then takes the test results. "Oxygen saturation is 94%, check her heart."

Chase shakes his head. "Her oxygen saturation is normal."

"It's off by one percentage point."

"It's within range. It's normal."

"If her DNA was off by one percentage point she'd be a dolphin. We've got a patient, who for no obvious reason is hallucinating. Since it's not obvious, I thought we'd go with subtle."

Foreman shakes his head now, as Gilmar joins them. "It doesn't matter if her sat percentage is off that means her blood isn't getting enough oxygen. That's a problem with her lungs not her heart."

"A lung problem isn't causing hallucinations." Chase argues.

"But the lungs could lead us somewhere that is." Gilmar retorts.

"Welcome to the end of the thought process."

"Primary pulmonary hypertension." Gilmar tries.

"Maybe PE or pulmonary fibrosis." Foreman guesses.

"Could be some bizarre case of kyphoscoliosis." Gilmar laughs at Chase's new idea.

"I'm going home. While I'm resting, you guys get some arterial blood gasses. Once you confirm she is hypoxic I want a plethysmography, Chest X-ray, CT and VQ. And if all that comes back negative then snake a catheter into her lungs. Don't worry, I don't sleep in. I'll get bagels."

In the test lab two hours later, Gilmar adjusts Andie. "You ever had this test before?"

Andie shakes her head. "What's it for?"

"This goes all the way up the vein by your hip into your lung. If I find something up there blocking anything I pull it out. Simple."

"It's gonna be easy. The doctor at Sloan told me I had a great aorta."

"Oh, you _have_ had this test before."

"Sorry. I just like hearing you talk."

Gilmar laughs and goes back to work. After a few minutes pass, Andie has a confession to make.

"I've never kissed anyone."

"There's time yet for that."

"There was a boy last summer; I was at one of those cancer camps."

"Uh huh."

"I just never had the guts to ask him. You know there's a good chance I'm not gonna walk out of this hospital. Even if I do, I'm seven. There's not a lot of kissing going on in the second grade."

"You will walk out of here, alright, and you will kiss a boy."

"What if I don't want to?"

"I though that's what we were talking about." Gilmar turns so she's facing Andie.

"Well… not a _boy_. I think I like girls like that." Andie pauses. "Is that bad?"

"Of course not. You can't help who you like. There you go. A smile."

"Will you kiss me?"

"No." Gilmar freezes up.

"No one will ever know."

"I'm… I'm… I'm sorry I can't."

"I won't tell anyone. I thought you said it wasn't wrong."

"Listen, you're seven years old; I'm sixteen. Nine years' difference."

"I just want to know what it feels like. Once."

"This isn't your last chance for that."

"What if it is? Please kiss me."

After a moment, she gives in and kisses the younger girl's lips. She immediately feels extremely perverted and can't talk anymore.

The next morning, just past eight o'clock in the office, House brings in bagels.

"You didn't sleep in." Chase comments.

"Didn't sleep." Quickly, he adds, "Didn't breathe. I'm dying."

Gilmar talks quickly. "Pulmonary angiogram of Andie's lungs was clean. Arterial blood gasses and a CT scan were also normal. Her heart and lungs are fine."

"Which gives us no explanation for the diminished sat percentage."

Chase shrugs. 'Yeah oddly enough sometimes normal is normal."

"Sometime we can't see why normal isn't normal. Get her symptoms on the board."

Foreman catches a thrown marker. "Whoa; you're letting me touch the markers?"

"It's written down in my advanced health care directive, should I be incapacitated in any way you run the board, then Chase. Gilmar you're just not ready yet. What else?"

"Guys, I know we ruled out infection but if we forget the labs for a minute, there is one infection we didn't test for because of her age. Neurosyphilis." Chase exclaims.

"There's no way." Gilmar shakes her head.

Chase shrugs. "If the infection dipped into her cerebral cortex all peripheral functions could be compromised."

"No she hasn't had sex." Gilmar protests. "She's seven!"

"Maybe it wasn't her idea." Chase suggests. "I mean she's been around a lot of adults; all the hospital visits, the counselors at the cancer camps."

Foreman nods. "You think she's been molested."

Gilmar scoffs nervously. "She's hiding it pretty well if there's any of that going on."

"Yeah, all girls who've been molested want to talk about it. Break out the rape kit." House glares at her.

"She hasn't had sex."

"Why the hell are you so sure?"

"She told me she'd never kissed anyone."

"You read her diary too?"

"She asked me to kiss her."

"I rest my case. A regular seven-year-old girl does not have sex on the brain, not when a doctor is threading a catheter through her vein."

"But she's not a regular seven-year-old. She's got terminal cancer." Gilmar feels like crying.

"Cancer doesn't make you special. Molestation on the other hand…"

"She wanted one damn kiss before she dies. If she's never kissed anyone before, it's a fair bet she's never had sex."

House scoffs. Tell that to anyone who won't kiss me on the mouth. Hey, here's a theory, she has been molested, seeks refuge in romantic fantasies with older men with great hair. And I think you left out the punch line, victims of molestation learn to work the angles. Manipulate people." He pauses. "You did it didn't you? You kissed her."

"It wasn't sick." She complains. Chase and Foreman freak out quietly in their seats. "It was one kiss for a dying girl. One small… one small kiss before she dies. Thank you. Thanks."

House shakes his head. "This is exactly why you can't touch my markers. Go see if she's had sex."

"Okay." Chase jumps up, suddenly very uncomfortable.

In the exam room an hour later, Chase is asking Andie some personal questions.

"No one's ever touched me."

"We just need to be sure."

"I like your hair." She smiles. "I used to have really curly hair. I always wanted it to be like yours is."

"Thank you. Alright, that's it, you're fine."

Meanwhile, House throws a pebble at Wilson's office window at the balcony. He throws another until his friend looks up. He quietly excuses himself and walks to the door.

"With a patient."

"Is she dying?"

"No."

"Then she can wait."

Wilson turns back to his patient. "Would you excuse me? Just two minutes."

"If only she'd been molested then we'd have something to go on." House complains as he tries to open a jar of mentholatum. "No forced entry."

"One hallucination; maybe it was just bad pork, maybe there's nothing…"

"She's not fine. Her sat percentage dropped another point." He keeps struggling with the jar.

"Which could suggest a tumor in her lung." Wilson acknowledges.

"Lung wouldn't explain the hallucination. CT scan showed both lungs were clean, which means there's a tumor in her heart."

"Not a chance. Give me that." Wilson opens the jar.

"I loosened it."

"I opened it. We've got an MRI and an echo of her heart, there's nothing there."

"Give me one other explanation for low oxygen saturation."

Wilson shakes his head. "I can't. There's only one condition that simultaneously affects the heart and the brain but she…"

"Perfect; let's go with that."

"Tuberous Sclerosis in a kid that also has Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma. Two different unrelated cancers at the same time is a statistical no-no."

"What's the rate of cancer in the general population? One in ten thousand?"

Wilson holds up his hands. "Don't. Don't start with the numbers."

"The way I figure it, one in ten thousand of them should have another cancer. Little girl won the lottery twice. It happens."

"So you're gonna cut her open?"

"Exploratory surgery, gotta find this thing."

"You're just going to grope around inside an immuno-compromised seven-year-old? She could die on the table."

"I know it's somewhere near the heart."

"House, you've gotta do better than that."

Half an hour after three o'clock, House and the ducklings are in the locker room, listening to the aria Nessun Dorma from Puccini's Turandot.

"Why are we here?" Chase asks.

"Better acoustics. Now listen to this."

"That's a mitral heart valve." Gilmar notices.

"No, get the wax out of your ears. This is the patient's aortic valve. I downloaded the audio of her echocardiogram."

"What are we trying to hear?" Chase asks.

"Tumor."

Gilmar rolls her eyes. "They tend to keep quiet on account of them not having any mouths."

"But we could hear an abnormality in the sound of the valve, which would indicate the presence of something; a tumor for example. If we can tell the surgeon where to look this is no longer exploratory surgery it's a precision strike."

Chase shakes his head. "Her aortic valve sounds normal."

"Too bad. Now listen to the dulcet tones of Andie's tricuspid valve."

"Normal." Foreman comments.

"And this is her mitral valve."

"I don't hear anything weird." Gilmar doesn't get it.

"You guys make me sad. Listen again."

"She's had one hallucination. Why are we operating on her? Why are we risking her life?"

"Because Wilson thinks it'll be nice to give the girl a year to say good-bye to her mommy. I guess maybe she stutters or something. Now shut up and listen. Tricuspid. Mitral. Again."

"Wait. There." Foreman holds a hand. "There's an extra flap."

"I'm gonna ask the surgeon to look at the mitral valve first. Gilmar, I want you there. I don't like reading surgeons reports, they're boring."

"I'm not really sure I should be spending more time…"

"She'll be unconscious. You'll be safe."

The ducklings leave, and House goes back to the opera. At four thirty, House and Wilson are at the doorway, watching Andie and her mom.

"I'll be there when you wake up.'

"I'm gonna be fine, Mom."

"Brave kid, she even gave her mom a pep talk." Wilson smiles sadly.

House huffs. "Sure. Brave. She's a wonder."

"What's your problem?"

"These cancer kids; you can't put them all on a pedestal. It's basic statistics some of them have to be whiny little fraidy cats."

"You're unbelievable."

"If there's not one yellow-belly in the group then being brave doesn't have any meaning."

"Andie handles an impossible situation with grace. That's not to be admired?"

"You see grace because you wanna to see grace."

"You don't see grace because you won't go anywhere near her." Wilson retorts.

"Idolizing is pathological with you people. You see things to admire where there's nothing."

"Yeah, well, we're evil."

"You find things to admire where you shouldn't be sniffing at all; like Debbie in accounting."

"She's nice."

"You shouldn't know that, you're engaged to be married."

"So the little kid dying of cancer, I shouldn't like her?"

"If you're dying, suddenly everybody loves you."

Wilson scoffs. "You have a cane, and nobody even likes you."

House smirks. "I'm not terminal, merely pathetic. You wouldn't believe the crap people let me get away with."

Wilson watches the surgery from the viewing area. Mom waits alone. Gilmar looks up and nods her head when they've found it after three hours. At nine thirty that night, Wilson walks into the waiting area to talk with Andie's mom.

"They found a tumor it's in her lung extending into her heart. It wasn't visible on the MRI because it's growing along the heart wall. Now because of the placement, the surgeon has to temporarily remove Andie's heart. It's called an explant. They cut out the tumor and replace any damaged heart muscle with bovine patches. That's a patch made from cow's pericardium. It's a sac that encloses the heart."

"What are her chances?"

"The problem is there might not be enough heart left once they remove the entire tumor. And if the tumor's metastasized there nothing we can do."

At ten o'clock, Gilmar is giving the girl eye drops and notices something. "Dr. Murphy."

"Just let me tie this off."

"Doctor."

"What?"

"She's got a bleed in her eye."

At two o'clock in the morning, House and Wilson are walking in the hallway with cups of coffee. They're talking about Andie, and House is barely sick anymore. "They got the tumor, repaired her heart but she bled out of her eye."

"She didn't bleed out of her eye from a heart tumor." Wilson denies.

"True. The cardiac tumor was benign."

"That's impossible."

"Statistically."

"Oh shut up." Wilson takes a sip. "If the tumor's benign, that means it didn't cause her hallucinations."

"That's why I'm mentioning it."

"So the tumor is a coincidence."

"This is bad. You're starting to state the obvious."

"No, you said it would be there, and it was there. It can't be a coincidence."

They enter the Diagnostics office to find the three sleepy ducklings. Foreman is going over the files and scans for the upteeth time. Chase is dead weight, and Gilmar is on her tenth coffee.

"A seven-year-old with terminal cancer gets an unrelated benign tumor growing in her heart why?" House demands to know as he moves over to the coffee maker.

"It's benign?" Foreman looks up. "That's impossible."

"Talk to Wilson." He yawns over his shoulder.

Wilson yawns too. "And the retinal bleed? Another coincidence?"

Gilmar blinks. "A clot could create pressure behind the eye cause the bleed."

"A clot could explain the eye, but doesn't explain the hallucinations."

Chase mutters but doesn't look up, "A clot could cause mini seizures."

"Great; another thing that's not causing the hallucinations.'

Chase lets his head fall on the table. "Post seizure psychosis; the brain sort of corrects itself after the seizure by hallucinating."

"The clot could explain the eye and the hallucinations, but what about the tumor. Tumors the size of an octopus wrapped around a little girl's heart are not just a coincidence."

Foreman clears an area on the table for another offered cup of coffee. "She's not healthy. She's never been healthy."

Wilson takes the offered cup. "What's the theory here? This girl's body's a lemon? Faulty manufacturing? Everything's falling apart."

House drops a coffee off for Chase as he takes a seat. "The tumor is Afghanistan, and the clot is Buffalo. Does that need more explanation? Okay, the tumor is Al Qaeda. Big bad guy with brains. We went in and wiped it out but it had already sent out a splinter cell; a small team of low level terrorists quietly living in some suburb of Buffalo, waiting to kill us all."

Chase sips some. "Whoa, whoa, you're trying to say that the tumor threw a clot before we removed it."

"It was an excellent metaphor. Angio her brain for this clot before it straps on an explosive vest."

Foreman and Chase angio the brain, and the results come in by four o'clock. The ducklings are asleep in the Diagnostics room. House and Wilson talk in the latter's office.

"Angio was clean."

"There's no clot?"

"There's a clot, we just can't find it."

"We can't do exploratory surgery on her brain."

"Are you sure you're not a neurologist?"

Wilson sighs. "Okay, she's gonna die."

"Well the clots not gonna to go away quietly. It could blow at anytime. Are you gonna let them know?"

"I guess so."

"Can I come with?"

"To tell Andie she's going to die? That's very un-you."

"Never mind then."

"Wait." Wilson stares at his friend. "You really want to come with?"

"She's a brave girl." House shrugs. "I'll be quiet."

Wilson watches his friend a moment longer. Finally, he sighs and nods. House follows Wilson to the room and remains in the back. He watches Wilson talk to Andie and her mom from a slight distance. The mom cries, and seven-year-old Andie comforts her. Wilson looks sadly to House, who only looks back solemnly. The team meets up in House's office at six thirty that morning. There are empty cups of coffee, spread-out files and scans cluttering the Diagnostics lounge. The ducklings seem to have gotten some rest, and Foreman's senior tutor from Epson Reform School has just left. Chase's senior tutor from Spencer High is waiting in the hall, and Gilmar's senior tutor from E Foster Discovery School will be in by lunch.

"What would you do if you were told you were gonna die?"

Chase groans. "I don't know, I'd be devastated."

"You'd cry like a baby, everybody would, but she's not doing anything. She's a rock."

"She's brave." Foreman corrects.

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Why?"

"She's gone through more than most people do in a lifetime." Gilmar reminds him.

"So what? Does that mean she's ready to die? What if her bravery is a symptom? The clot is causing hallucinations and messing with her emotions."

"You think her bravery is chemically based." Chase's eyes broaden.

"Would tell us where to look for the clot. Where's the fears center?"

"The amygdala near the hippocampus; it's a big area and a busy one. You blindly cut in there you'll kill her. The only time you're going to see this clot is at autopsy."

House experiences a light bulb moment. "Then let's do that."

Half an hour later, House barges into Cuddy's office. "Is it still illegal to perform an autopsy on a living person?"

She's barely gotten settled in today. "Are you high?"

"If it's Tuesday, I'm wasted."

"It's Wednesday."

"I want to induce a hypothermic cardiac arrest. Once the patients on bypass we siphon off two liters of blood then perfuse the brain while she's in an MRI."

"You're actually talking about killing her."

House waves a hand. "Just for a little while, I'll bring her right back."

"Oh, well, in that case go ahead. Why are we even talking?"

"If we do nothing she's dead in a day, maybe a week; the kind that lasts."

"We need FDA approval for any surgical technique that's used for diagnostic purposes."

"Absolutely. If we were doing anything invasive; but there's nothing invasive." He almost sneezes. "Gah. You know, I'm not cutting into her head; I'm just looking for a clot."

"Not invasive? You're killing her."

"Don't split hairs, if it works she lives."

Cuddy groans. "Make sure the mom understands that this is a million to one shot."

"I'll see that Wilson passes that along."

Sure enough, House returns to his office. He orders the ducklings to clean the conference room while Wilson informs the mom.

"The plan is basically to... reboot your daughter. Like a computer. We will shut her down then restart her."

"How do you restart a seven-year-old girl?"

"We cool her core body temperature to 21 degrees Celsius. Use blankets. Ice."

"Sort of like… like hibernation?"

"Not quite, in hibernation a bear's heart beat is just very slow; in cardiac arrest there is no heart beat."

"So she's dead."

"Temporarily yes. By cooling her we limit the risk of damage when we remove her blood. Not all of it, two to three liters."

"Half her blood."

"Then we put it back. It's called perfusing the circuit. In this case her brain, and using an MRI we'd have a very brief window to, hopefully, see the outline of the clot. If it's there and if it's operable, we go get it. And Andie walks out of here."

House is playing with a card in his office when Wilson returns.

"Signed consent forms."

"Great. Thanks."

"You sound better."

"I stacked a combo of mentholatum, a few vicodin and something else which I can't remember. Should be able to ride the high for a couple hours; what did Andie say?"

"About what?"

"About this."

"I didn't talk to her; she doesn't need to know the specifics of this procedure."

"What if you're right about her? What if she just is that brave?"

"That doesn't mean she's mature enough to handle this kind of decision."

"Either she understands or she's not brave. You can't have it both ways. If she does understand… then she deserves to know what's going on."

To prove the point, he then ventures to Andie's room. "I'm Doctor House."

"I've seen you around." She nods.

"Did your mom tell you what we're gonna try?"

"Sorta."

"Tomorrow's test could take ten hours, in your present condition you might not even make it through."

"My mom's done a lot of research."

"How do you feel about it? If we figured maturity came from how much time you've got left instead how long you've been here, this would be your call."

Andie squints her eyes. "I don't have a choice right?"

"I could give you one."

"I wanna get better."

"You've got cancer. I fix this…"

"I've got a year."

"A year of this. A lot of people wouldn't want that. A lot of people would just want it to be over."

She cocks her head to the side. "Are you asking if I want to die?"

"Nobody wants to die. But you're going to. The question is how, how much you're gonna suffer and how long. I'm asking if you want this to be over."

"What would you tell my mom?"

"I could give her ten excellent medical reasons why we can't do this procedure."

"I can't just leave her cause I'm tired."

"But you can't stay for her either."

"But she needs me here."

"This is _your_ life, you can't do this just for her."

Andie looks him dead in the eyes. "I love her."

House rounds up several doctors in the operating room at four o'clock in the afternoon for practice. Andie's surgery is scheduled for ten o'clock at night.

"Thank you for joining me for tonight's dress rehearsal. Playing the part of Andie is Morty Randolph." House gestures at a cadaver betwixt them. "For his donation to science, we give our thanks. Once Andie is cool and goes off bypass we have sixty seconds to get two liters of blood out of her body and back into her for the pictures to find the clot in her head. _If_ our star is bumped tomorrow," He barely touches the cadaver and lights start to flash. "While my MRI is on, these red lights will go off, which will mean we have no useable test results. No test results; its goodbye Broadway. You guys will be wearing bad cat suits in Des Moines. Neurosurgeons here, with a view of the monitors. Cardiac surgeon there, in case we need to open her up. Anesthesiologists: one by the cardiac bypass machine, one by the cooling apparatus. Girls in the chorus if you're over 5' 10" stick with me. Okay give me sixty seconds on the clock. Showtime. A five, six, seven, eight… siphon off the blood through the arterial line _whoosh_ , sound of blood draining. More whoosh. Glug, glug, glug and we…" Red lights flash. "Kill her. Again."

Red lights flash for a fifth time. "Sorry, my hand slipped." Dr. Pierce apologizes.

"How hard can this be?" House grumbles.

Dr. Carter snaps at him, "It's a little busy down here."

"Again!"

Red lights flash on the ninth time. Dr. Carter sighs discouragingly. "If we didn't have to lavage her gastrointestinal…"

"Again!"

Red lights flash for the thirteenth try. "Again!"

"We could bolt her to the table." Chase suggests.

"Gruesome and low tech. Kiss me, I love it. A five, six, seven, eight…"

They finally have it down by Andie's scheduled time. Soon, the seven-year-old is on the operating table in place of the cadaver.

Nurse Hannah hands over a gas mask. "Here you go, doctor."

"This'll make you sleep." House promises the girl as he places it over her nose and mouth.

"A lot of people." She breathes.

"Big musical number kiddo; a lot of people here to make you look good."

"You're kind of freaking me out."

"He gets that sometimes." Gilmar smirks.

Emily, an anesthesiologist, smiles to her. "Deep breath honey."

House nods as she falls asleep. "Okay go."

Chase bolts the girl's head to the table.

"Body temperature, 37 degrees Celsius." Emily acknowledges.

House nods. "Start the cooling. You. Go."

"She's shivering." Gilmar pronounces.

"200 milligrams of vecuronium

"24 degrees Celsius." Emily calls out.

Dr. Pierce declares, "We have A-fib."

House turns off the monitor volume, seeing Emily and Dr. Pierce look up. "What? She's dead; that's the whole idea. Go."

The other anesthesiologist, Dianna, begins draining blood. "1 liter out… 2 liters."

Once it's satisfactory, House nods. "Okay put the blood back in; reperfuse the circuit."

The MRI starts to appear on the monitors. House is hectic, reading theough.

"Anything people? Anything at all?"

A neurologist named Dr. Mihn goes through. "Internal carotid artery and cavernous sinus is fine."

"Ten seconds." Dr. Pierce counts out.

"Vestibulocolcular nerve intact." Chase recognizes.

Another neurologist, Dr. Ramos, eyes another passageway. "Middle meningial artery clear."

"Five seconds." Dr. Pierce counts.

Dr. Mihn shakes her head. "Nothing."

Dr. Pierce is frantic. "We're over the limit. We've got to start re-warming her or there'll be permanent damage."

"Keep looking."

"There!" Chase jabs at the screen.

"I didn't see anything."

"It was there."

"Are you sure?"

"Four millimeters lateral to the hippocampus. I saw it."

Dr. Pierce is even more frantic. "House, she's out of time; she's gonna be a vegetable."

"I saw it." Chase repeats.

House nods. "That's good enough for me."

Wilson had been watching. As tey restart Andie's heart, he ventures out into the waiting room. He finds her mom rather quickly, due to it being so late. "They were able to restart her heart. She's doing as well as can be hoped."

"So they found they clot."

Wilson nods. "We think so. The neurosurgeons are attempting to remove it right now."

"And when will we know if there was any damage?"

"A few hours."

Andie's mom cries. Eventually, Wilson leaves her in Andie's room. House exits to play with his oversized tennis ball in his office. It distracts him. Just after midnight, Chase remains in the operating room with Dr. Pierce, and Andie on the table.

"Four millimeters lateral to the hippocampus."

Dr. Pierce groans. "That's where I am. There's nothing there."

"You're not there yet. Keep going."

"I'm there. Are you sure you saw... there it is. I think I can get it."

Chase turns to see Gilmar, who is watching from outside. By one o'clock, Andie is awake and much better than before.

"Hi Mom."

"Ohh, hi baby." She cries, hugging her daughter.

Meanwhile, House is locked in his office, cutting a white powder on a mirror using a razor blade. Wilson comes in from the balcony.

"You're treating your stuffy nose with cocaine?"

"Diphenhydramine. Antihistamine. New delivery system; it's a blood brain barrier thing."

"It's all about speed isn't it? You're always from one thing to another; never standing still. You're pretty good at that."

"I know my way around a razor blade."

"It's time."

"Just a couple more rocks."

"Andie's going home."

"Right, parade of the small bald circus freaks. Sorry, I got a thing."

"I read the surgeon's report."

"Oh?"

"Clot was nowhere near her amygdala. Means her fear emotions were working perfectly."

"Yeah."

"Yeah. So her bravery was not a symptom."

"Yeah. I was wrong; she genuinely is a self sacrificing saint whose life will bring her nothing but pain, which she will stoically withstand just so that her mom doesn't have to cry quite so soon. I'm beside myself with joy." He does a line. "Whoa!"

Wilson doesn't let it bother him. "She enjoys life more than you do."

"Right."

"She stole that kiss from Gilmar. What have done lately?"

"I'm pacing myself; unlike her I have the luxury of time."

Wilson smirks. "She could outlive you."

Ten minutes later, everyone is joined in the lobby. Andie hugs everyone goodbye in turn; Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Wilson. When she gets to Gilmar, the sixteen-year-old hands her tickets to the American Museum of Natural History.

"In case you want to see real butterflies." They hug and Andie kisses her on the cheek.

Andie then moves on to House. He stares at her. "I'm not gonna kiss you, no matter what you say."

She smiles and then hugs him. He awkwardly pats her back with a free hand.

"It's sunny outside, you should go for a walk."

House looks at his cane. "Not much for long walks in the park. Now get."

At eight o'clock in the morning, House stands on the street looking at some motorcycles. An older guy is talking to him, but he doesn't hear it because he's listening to _Beautiful_ by Elvis Costello, on his headphones.

"Right leg?" The man questions.

House finally removes the headphones. "Huh?"

"Your right leg? You can still ride. We've got excellent financing right now. It lists for 10-8 but I'll let you steal it out the door for 10-3."

"No thanks." He starts to leave and then turns back. "Could I test drive one of these things?"

The salesman encourages it. House places the headphones back in his ears as the keys are handed to him. He slides the cane in the side pocket and goes for a drive.

 **Alright! House still has his original old car somewhere. His '65 corvette is locked up. Now he's got a motorcycle. The one he keeps and the one I love the best of all the other vehicles. Yes, even the corvette. Thanks for reading this story!**


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